> 


'*-     s 

«2  M.  1 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 


Rose  of  Dutcher's  Coolly 


by 

Hamlin  Garland 


CHICAGO 
STONE  fcf  KIMBALL 

MDCCCXCV 


COPYRIGHT,  1895,  BY 
HAMLIN     OAKLAND 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 


CHAPTER  I 

HER  CHILDHOOD 

Rose  was  an  unaccountable  child  from  the 
start.  She  learned  to  speak  early  and  while  she 
did  not  use  "baby-talk"  she  had  strange  words 
of  her  own.  She  called  hard  money  "tow" 
and  a  picture  "tac,"  names  which  had  nothing 
to  do  with  onomatopoeia  though  it  seemed  so 
in  some  cases.  Bread  and  milk  she  called 
"plop." 

She  began  to  read  of  her  own  accord  when 
four  years  old,  picking  out  the  letters  from  the 
advertisements  of  the  newspapers,  and  running 
to  her  mother  at  the  sink  or  bread-board  to 
learn  what  each  word  meant.  Her  demand  for 
stories  grew  to  be  a  burden.  She  was  insatiate, 
nothing  but  sleep  subdued  her  eager  brain. 

As  she  grew  older  she  read  and  re-read  her 
picture  books  when  alone,  but  when  older  peo 
ple  were  talking  she  listened  as  attentively  as  if 
she  understood  every  word.  She  had  the  power 
of  amusing  herself  and  visited  very  little  with 

3 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

other  children.  It  was  deeply  moving  to  see 
her  with  her  poor  playthings  out  under  the  pop 
lar  tree,  talking  to  herself,  arranging  and  re 
arranging  her  chairs  and  tables,  the  sunlight 
flecking  her  hair,  and  the  birds  singing  over 
head. 

She  seemed  only  a  larger  sort  of  insect,  and 
her  prattle  mixed  easily  with  the  chirp  of  crickets 
and  the  rustle  of  leaves. 

She  was  only  five  years  old  when  her  mother 
suddenly  withdrew  her  hands  from  pans  and 
kettles,  gave  up  all  thought  of  bread  and  butter 
making,  and  took  rest  in  death.  Only  a  few 
hours  of  waiting  on  her  bed  near  the  kitchen 
fire  and  Ann  Dutcher  was  through  with  toil  and 
troubled  dreaming,  and  lay  in  the  dim  best- 
room,  taking  no  account  of  anything  in  the 
light  of  day. 

Rose  got  up  the  next  morning  after  her 
mother's  last  kiss  and  went  into  the  room  where 
the  body  lay.  A  gnomish  little  figure  the  child 
was,  for  at  that  time  her  head  was  large  and 
her  cropped  hair  bristled  till  she  seemed  a  sort 
of  brownie.  Also,  her  lonely  child-life  had 
given  her  quaint,  grave  ways. 

She  knew  her  mother  was  dead,  and  that 
-death  was  a  kind  of  sleep  which  lasted  longer 
than  common  sleep,  that  was  all  the  difference, 
•.so  she  went  in  and  stood  by  the  bed  and  tried 
ito  see  her  mother's  face.  It  was  early  in  the 

4 


HER   CHILDHOOD 

morning  and  the  curtains  being  drawn  it  was 
dark  in  the  room,  but  Rose  had  no  fear,  for 
mother  was  there. 

She  talked  softly  to  herself  a  little  while,  then 
went  over  to  the  window  and  pulled  on  the 
string  of  the  curtain  till  it  rolled  up.  Then  she 
went  back  and  looked  at  her  mother.  She  grew 
tired  of  waiting  at  last. 

"Mamma,"  she  called,  "wake  up.  Can  't  you 
wake  up,  mamma  ?  " 

She  patted  the  cold,  rigid  cheeks  with  her 
rough  brown  little  palms.  Then  she  blew  in 
the  dead  face,  gravely.  Then  she  thought  if  she 
could  only  open  mamma's  eyes  she  'd  be  awake. 
So  she  took  her  finger  and  thumb  and  tried  to 
lift  the  lashes,  and  when  she  did  she  was 
frightened  by  the  look  of  the  set  faded  gray 
eyes.  Then  the  terrible  vague  shadow  of  the 
Unknown  settled  upon  her  and  she  cried  con 
vulsively:  "Mamma!  mamma,  I  want  you!" 
Thus  she  met  death,  early  in  her  life. 

After  her  mother's  burial  Rose  turned  to  her 
father  more  hungrily  than  before.  She  rode 
into  the  fields  with  him  in  the  spring,  when  he 
went  out  to  sow,  sitting  on  the  seeder  box  with 
the  pockets  of  her  little  pink  apron  filled  with 
wheat,  and  her  sweet,  piping  little  voice  calling 
to  the  horses  or  laughing  in  glee  at  the  swarms 
of  sparrows.  When  he  was  plowing  corn  she 
rode  on  the  horses,  clinging  like  a  blue-jay  to 

5 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

the  rings  in  the  back-pad,  her  yellow-brown  hair 
blowing. 

She  talked  sagely  about  the  crops  and  the 
weather,  and  asked  innumerable  questions. 
Often  John  could  not  hear  her  questions,  which 
were  like  soft  soliloquies,  but  she  babbled  on 
just  the  same. 

"See  the  little  birds,  pappa  John.  They's 
'bout  a  million  of  'um,  ain't  they?  They  're 
glad  spring  has  come,  ain't  they,  pappa?  They 
can  understand  each  other  just  the  same  as  we 
can,  can  't  they,  pappa  John?" 

John  Butcher  was  not  a  talker,  and  he  seldom 
answered  her  unless  she  turned  her  eager  face  to 
him,  and  her  bird-like  voice  repeated  her  ques 
tion.  But  it  mattered  very  little  to  Rose.  She 
had  her  father's  power  of  self-amusement.  In 
case  she  got  tired  of  riding  about  with  him  she 
brought  her  playthings  out  and  established  them 
in  a  corner  of  the  fence.  Her  favorite  game 
was  playing  horses. 

Her  horses  were  sticks  of  the  size  of  canes, 
and  of  all  sorts  and  colors.  Each  one  had  a 
name.  How  she  selected  them,  and  why  she 
selected  them  out  of  the  vast  world  of  sticks,  was 
a  mystery  to  John  Dutcher. 

The  brown  stick  she  called    Dan,  the  fork 

handle,  Nellie,  and  the  crooked  stick  with  the 

big  knot  was  Barney.     She  had  from  six  to  ten 

and  she  never  forgot  their  names.     Each  had  a 

6 


HER  CHILDHOOD 

string  for  a  bridle  and  they  all  were  placed  in 
stalls,  which  she  built  with  infinite  labor  and  cal 
culation  out  of  twigs.  She  led  each  stick  by  its 
halter  up  to  the  manger  (a  rail}  on  which  she 
had  placed  oats  and  grass.  She  talked  to  them. 

"Now,  Barney,  whoa-whoa  there  now !  Do  n't 
you  kick  Kit  again  —  now  sir!  Kit,  you  better 
stand  over  here  by  Pete  —  Barney,  you  need  ex 
ercise,  that's  what  you  need — yessir." 

She  exercised  them  by  riding  them  in  plung 
ing  circles  about  the  fields,  forgetting,  with  the 
quick  imagination  of  a  child,  that  she  was  doing 
all  the  hard  work  of  the  riding  with  her  own 
stout,  brown  legs.  It  was  a  pleasure  to  John  to 
have  her  there  though  he  said  little  to  her. 

Often  at  night  as  he  saw  her  lying  asleep,  her 
long  lashes  upon  her  roughened  sun-burned 
skin,  his  heart  went  out  to  her  in  a  great  gush  of 
tenderness.  His  throat  ached  and  his  eyes  grew 
wet  as  he  thought  how  unresponsive  he  had  been 
that  day.  His  remorseful  memory  went  back 
over  her  eager  questions  to  which  he  had  not 
replied.  Dear,  sweet,  restless  little  heart !  And 
then  he  vowed  never  to  lose  patience  with  her 
again.  And  sometimes  standing  there  beside 
her  bed  his  arms  closed  about  the  little  mound 
under  the  quilts,  and  his  lips  touched  the  round, 
sleep-enraptured  face.  At  such  times  his  needy 
soul  went  out  in  a  cry  to  his  dead  wife  for  help 
to  care  for  his  child. 


ROSE  OF   BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

He  grew  afraid  of  the  mystery  and  danger  of 
coming  womanhood.  Her  needs  came  to  him 
more  powerfully  each  day. 

When  she  began  going  to  school  with  the 
other  children  the  effects  of  her  lonely  life  and 
of  her  companionship  with  her  father  set  her 
apart  from  the  boys  and  girls  of  her  own  age 
and  placed  her  among  those  several  years  older, 
whom  she  dominated  by  her  gravity  and  her 
audacity.  She  was  not  mischievous  or  quarrel 
some,  but  she  was  a  fearless  investigator.  She 
tested  their  childish  superstitions  at  once. 

When  they  told  her  that  if  she  swore  at  God 
and  shook  her  fist  at  the  sky  she  would  certainly 
drop  dead,  she  calmly  stepped  forward  and 
shook  her  little  fist  up  at  the  sun  and  swore, 
while  the  awe-stricken  children  cowered  like  a 
covey  of  partridges. 

"There!  you  see  that^s  a  lie,"  she  said  scorn 
fully.  "God  can't  kill  me — or  else  he  don't 
care." 

She  went  on  exploding  these  strange  super 
stitious  fancies,  which  are  only  the  survivals  in 
civilized  children  of  savage  ancestry.  She  stood 
erect  in  the  door  of  the  school-house  when  she 
was  eight  years  old,  and  pointed  her  hand  at  the 
lightning  while  the  teacher  sat  cowed  and  weep 
ing  at  her  desk. 

"You  said  I  dassn't,"  the  little  elf  cried, 
"But  I  dass't,  and  nothing  ain't  struck  me  yet.'* 


HER  CHILDHOOD 

Her  absolute  fearlessness  of  the  things  which 
children  shrank  from,  the  dark,  and  things  of 
the  dark,  made  her  a  marked  figure.  The  wo 
men  of  the  Coolly  thought  it  due  to  the  lack  of 
a  mother's  care.  They  spoke  to  the  minister 
about  it  and  urged  him  to  see  Butcher  and  ask 
him  to  try  and  do  something  for  the  child's 
good. 

But  Butcher  simply  said,  "  Oh,  do  n't  bother 
the  child  about  her  soul.  She 's  all  right.  I 
don't  bother  myself  about  those  things,  and 
what 's  the  use  o'  spoilin'  the  child's  fun.  If  she 
wants  to  go  to  Sunday-school,  why  all  right. 
She  '11  go  where  she  's  interested." 

"But,  Brother  Butcher,  the  child  is  doing 
outrageous  things  —  heathenish,  defying  her 
God." 

"  I  do  n't  s'pose  what  she  does  will  make  any 
particular  difference  to  God.  We  understand 
each  other,  Rosie  and  me.  Bo  n't  worry.  If 
she  does  anything  real  bad  she  '11  come  an'  tell 
me  of  it.  Chk  !  Chk  !  G'  wan,  Barney  ! "  He  cut 
the  matter  short  by  driving  away  into  the  field 
of  corn. 

He  saw  rushing  upon  him  the  most  solemn 
and  severe  trials  of  a  parent.  Rose  was  a  sturdy 
girl  and  promised  to  develop  into  a  maiden 
early,  and  there  were  a  hundred  things  which 
ought  to  be  said  to  her  which  must  be  said  by 
some  one.  He  was  not  philosopher  enough  to 

9 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

know  that  she  held  in  her  expanding  brain  the 
germs  of  self-knowledge. 

He  had  been  passing  through  a  running  fire 
of  questions  from  the  child  for  two  years,  but 
these  questions  now  took  hold  of  deeper  things, 
and  they  could  no  longer  be  put  aside  by  say 
ing,  "  Wait  a  few  years  and  then  I  '11  tell  you." 
She  would  learn  them  elsewhere,  if  not  from  him. 
He  braced  himself  for  the  trial,  which  increased 
in  severity. 

The  child's  horizon  was  limited,  but  within 
its  circle  her  searching  eyes  let  nothing  escape. 
She  came  to  Dutcher  with  appalling  questions. 

She  not  only  asked  him,  "  Who  made  God?  " 
but  she  wanted  to  know  how  she  came  to  be 
born,  and  a  thousand  other  questions  of  the 
same  searching  nature.  He  saw  that  the  day  of 
petty  fictions  had  gone  by.  The  child  knew 
that  little  lambs,  and  calves,  and  kittens  did  not 
grow  down  in  the  woods.  She  knew  that  babies 
were  not  brought  by  the  doctor,  and  that  they 
did  not  come  from  heaven. 

"Good  Lord!"  groaned  her  father  one  day, 
after  an  unusually  persistent  attack  from  her, 
caused  by  the  appearance  of  a  little  colt  out  in 
the  barn,  "  I  wish  your  mother  was  here,  or 
some  woman.  You  do  make  it  hard  for  me, 
Rosie." 

"  How  do  I  make  it  hard  for  you,  pappa? " 
was  her  quick  new  question.  "  O,  Lord,  what  a 
10 


HER  CHILDHOOD 

young  un,"  he  said,  in  deeper  despair.  "  Come, 
ain't  it  about  time  for  you  to  be  leggin'  it 
toward  school?  Give  me  a  rest,  Rosie.  But 
I  '11  answer  all  your  questions  —  do  n't  ask 
about  them  things  of  the  children  —  come  right 
to  me  always — only  don't  pile  'em  all  on  me 
to  once." 

"  All  right,  pappa,  I  won't." 

"That's  a  good  old  soul!"  he  said,  patting 
her  on  the  back.  After  she  had  gone  he  sat 
down  on  the  feed-box  and  wiped  his  face.  "  I 
wonder  how  women  do  explain  things  like  that 
to  girls,"  he  thought.  "  I  '11  ask  the  preacher's 
wife  to  explain  it  —  no,  I  won't.  I  '11  do  it  my 
self,  and  I  '11  get  her  books  to  read  about  it  — 
good  books." 

It  was  evidence  of  the  girl's  innate  strength 
and  purity  of  soul  that  the  long  succession  of 
hired  hands  had  not  poisoned  her  mind.  They 
soon  discovered,  however,  the  complete  confi 
dence  between  the  father  and  child,  and  knew 
that  their  words  and  actions  would  be  taken 
straight  to  John  as  soon  as  night  came  and  Rose 
climbed  into  his  lap.  This  made  them  careful 
before  her,  and  the  shame  of  their  words  and 
stories  came  to  the  child's  ears  only  in  fragments. 

Dutcher  concluded  that  he  should  have  a 
woman  in  the  house,  and  co  sent  back  to  Penn 
sylvania  for  his  sister,  lately  widowed.  Rose 
looked  forward  to  seeing  her  aunt  with  the  wild- 
ii 


ROSE  OF  DUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

est  delight.  She  went  with  her  father  down  the 
valley  to  Bluff  Siding  to  meet  her.  Bluff  Siding 
was  the  only  town  the  child  knew,  and  it  was  a 
wonderful  thing  to  go  to  town. 

As  they  stood  on  the  platform,  waiting,  her 
eyes  swept  along  the  great  curve  of  the  rails  to 
the  east,  and  suddenly,  like  a  pain  in  the  heart, 
came  her  first  realization  of  distance,  of  the  in 
finity  of  the  world. 

"  Where  does  it  go  to,  pappa?  " 

"  O,  a  long  way  off.  To  Madison,  Chicago, 
and  Pennsylvany." 

"  How  far  is  it?  Could  we  go  there  with 
old  Barney  and  Nell?" 

"O,  no.  If  we  drove  there  it  would  take  us 
days  and  days,  and  the  wheat  would  grow  up 
and  get  yellow,  an'  the  snow  come,  almost,  be 
fore  we  'd  get  there." 

"  O,  dear!  "  she  sighed.  "  I  do  n't  like  to  have 
it  so  big.  Do  people  live  all  along  the  whole 
way?" 

"  Yes,  the  whole  way,  and  lots  of  big  cities." 

"Big  as  Madison?"  Madison  was  her  un 
seen  measure  of  greatness. 

"  O,  yes.     A  hundred  times  bigger." 

She  sighed  again  and  looked  away  to  the 
east  with  a  strange,  unchildish,  set  stare  in  her 
eyes.  She  was  trying  to  realize  it. 

"  It  makes  me  ache,  pappa,"  she  sighed,  put 
ting  her  little  brown  hand  to  her  throat. 
12 


HER  CHILDHOOD 

When  the  engine  came  in  with  its  thunder 
and  whizz,  she  shrank  back  against  the  station 
wall,  white  and  breathless,  not  so  much  with  fear 
as  with  awe.  She  had  never  stood  so  close  to 
this  monster  before.  It  attracted  all  her  atten 
tion  so  that  for  the  moment  she  forgot  about  the 
coming  of  her  aunt. 

When  she  looked  into  the  large  dull  face  of 
Mrs.  Diehl  she  was  deeply  disappointed.  She 
liked  her  but  she  not  love  her! 

She  had  looked  forward  to  her  coming  almost 
as  if  to  the  return  of  her  mother.  She  had 
imagined  her  looking  strange  and  beautiful  be 
cause  she  came  out  of  the  mystical,  far-off  land 
her  father  often  spoke  of.  Instead  of  these 
things  Mrs.  Diehl  was  a  strong-featured,  mild- 
voiced  woman,  rather  large  and  ungraceful,  who 
looked  upon  the  motherless  child  and  clicked 
her  tongue  —  tch! 

"  You  poor  chick!  " 

But  the  thing  which  had  happened  was  this : 
Rose  had  conceived  of  distance  and  great  cities. 

The  next  day  she  said :  "  Pappa  John,  I 
want  to  go  way  up  on  the  bluffs.  I  want  to  go 
up  to  Table  Rock  where  I  can  see  way,  way  off." 

"  It 's  a  long  climb  up  there,  Rosie.  You  '11 
get  tired." 

But  Rosie  insisted  and  together  they  climbed 
the  hill.  Up  beyond  the  pasture  —  beyond  the 
black-berry  patch  —  beyond  the  clinging  birches 

13 


ROSE  OF   BUTCHER'S   COOLLY 

in  their  white  jackets — up  where  the  rocks 
cropped  out  of  the  ground  and  where  curious 
little  wave-worn  pebbles  lay  scattered  on  the 
scant  grass. 

Once  a  glittering  rattle-snake  lying  in  the 
sun  awoke,  and  slipped  under  a  stone  like  a 
stream  of  golden  oil,  and  the  child  shrank 
against  her  father's  thigh  in  horror. 

They  climbed  slowly  up  the  steep  grassy  slope 
and  stood  at  last  on  the  flat  rock  which  topped 
the  bluff.  Rose  stood  there,  dizzy,  out  of  breath, 
with  her  hair  blown  across  her  cheek  and  looked 
away,  at  the  curving  valley  and  its  river  gleam 
ing  here  and  there  through  the  willows  and 
elders.  It  was  like  looking  over  an  unexplored 
world  to  the  child.  Her  eyes  expanded  and  her 
heart  filled  with  the  same  ache  which  came  into 
it  when  she  looked  down  along  the  curving  rail 
way  track.  She  turned  suddenly  and  fell  sobbing 
against  her  father. 

"  Why,  Rosie,  what 's  the  matter?     Poor  little  • 
girl  —  she 's  all  tired  out,  climbin'  up  here."     He 
sat  down  and  took  her  on  his  lap  and  talked  to 
her  of  the  valley  below  and  where  the  river  went 
— but  she  would  not  look  up  again. 

"  I  want  to  go  home,"  she  said  with  hidden 
face. 

On  the  way  down,  John  rolled  a  big  stone 
down  the  hill  and  as  it  went  bounding,  crashing 
into  the  forest  below,  a  deer  drifted  out  like  a 

14 


HER  CHILDHOOD 

gray  shadow  and  swept  along  the  hillside  and 
over  the  ridge. 

Rose  saw  it  as  if  in  a  dream.  She  did  not 
laugh  nor  shout.  John  was  troubled  by  her  si 
lence  and  gravity,  but  laid  it  to  weariness  and 
took  her  pick-a-back  on  the  last  half  mile  through 
the  brush. 

That  scene  came  to  her  mind  again  and  again 
in  the  days  which  followed,  but  she  did  not  see 
it  again  till  the  following  spring.  It  appealed  to 
her  with  less  power  then.  Its  beauty  over 
shadowed  its  oppressive  largeness.  As  she  grew 
older  it  came  to  be  her  favorite  playing  ground 
on  holidays.  She  brought  down  those  quaint 
little  bits  of  limestone  and  made  them  her  play 
things  in  her  house,  which  was  next  door  to  her 
barn — and  secondary  to  her  barn. 


CHAPTER  II 

CHILD-LIFE,  PAGAN  FREE 

Rose  lived  the  life  of  the  farm  girls  in  the 
seven  great  Middle-West  States.  In  summer  she 
patted  away  to  school,  clad  only  in  a  gingham 
dress,  white  untrimmed  cotton  pantalets,  and  a 
straw  hat  that  was  made  feminine  by  a  band  of 
gay  ribbon.  Her  body  was  as  untrammeled  as  a 
boy's.  She  went  bare-foot  and  bare-headed  at 
will,  and  she  was  part  of  all  the  sports. 

She  helped  the  boys  snare  gophers,  on  the  way 
to  school,  and  played  house  with  the  girls  on 
the  shady  side  of  the  school-house,  and  once, 
while  the  teacher  was  absent  at  noon,  Rose  pro 
posed  that  a  fire  be  built  to  heat  the  tea  for  the 
dolls. 

She  it  was  who  constructed  the  stove  out  of 
thin  bricks,  and  set  a  fire  going  in  it  in  the  cor 
ner  of  the  boy's  entry-way,  and  only  the  passing 
of  a  farmer  saved  the  building  from  disaster. 

She  it  was  who  found  the  ground-bird's  nest 
and  proposed  to  make  a  house  over  it,  and  ended 
by  teaching  the  bird  to  walk  through  a  long  hall 
way  made  of  sticks  in  order  to  get  to  its  eggs 
again. 

16 


CHILD-LIFE,  PAGAN   FREE 

She  despised  hats  and  very  seldom  wore  hers 
except  hanging  by  the  string  down  her  back. 
Her  face  was  brown  and  red  as  leather,  and  her 
stout  little  hands  were  always  covered  with  warts 
and  good  brown  earth,  which  had  no  terrors  for 
her. 

Bugs  and  beetles  did  not  scare  her  any  more 
than  they  did  the  boys.  She  watched  the  beetles 
bury  a  dead  gopher  without  the  slightest  repug 
nance  ;  indeed,  she  turned  to,  after  a  long  time, 
to  help  them,  a  kindness  which  they  very  prob 
ably  resented,  to  judge  from  their  scrambling. 

She  always  urged  the  other  girls  to  go  down 
to  the  creek  and  see  the  boys  go  in  swimming, 
and  would  have  joined  the  fun  had  not  the  boys 
beaten  her  back  with  hands  full  of  mud,  while 
they  uttered  opprobrious  cries.  She  saw  no  reason 
why  boys  should  have  all  the  fun. 

When  the  days  were  hot  they  could  go  down 
there  in  the  cool,  nice  creek,  strip  and  have  a 
good  time,  but  girls  must  primp  around  and  try 
to  keep  nice  and  clean.  She  looked  longingly  at 
the  naked  little  savages  running  about  and 
splashing  in  the  water.  There  was  something  so 
fine  and  joyous  in  it,  her  childish  heart  rebelled 
at  sex-distinction  as  she  walked  slowly  away. 
She,  too,  loved  the  feel  of  the  water  and  the 
caress  of  the  wind. 

She  was  a  good  student  and  developed  early 
into  a  wonderful  speller  and  reader.  She  always 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

listened  to  the  classes  in  reading,  and  long  be 
fore  she  reached  the  pieces  herself  she  knew 
them  by  heart,  and  said  them  to  herself  in  the 
silence  of  the  lane  or  the  loneliness  of  the  garret. 
She  recited  "The  Battle  of  Waterloo"  and 
"  Locheil "  long  before  she  understood  the 
words.  The  roll  of  the  verse  excited  her,  and 
she  thrust  her  nut  of  a  fist  into  the  air  like 
Miriam  the  Hebrew  singer,  feeling  vaguely  the 
same  passion. 

She  went  from  Primer  to  First  Reader,  then 
to  the  Second  and  Third  Readers,  without  effort. 
She  read  easily  and  dramatically.  She  caught  at 
the  larger  meanings,  and  uttered  them  in  such 
wise  that  the  older  pupils  stopped  their  study  to 
listen. 

Scraps  and  fragments  of  her  reading  took 
curious  lodgment  in  her  mind.  New  concep 
tions  burst  into  her  consciousness  with  a  golden 
glory  upon  reading  these  lines: 

"  Field  of  wheat  so  full  and  fair, 
Shining  with  a  sunny  air; 
Lightly  swaying  either  way, 
Graceful  as  the  breezes  sway." 

They  made  her  see  the  beauty  of  the  grain- 
field  as  never  before.  It  seemed  to  be  lit  by 
some  mysterious  light. 

"  Cleon  hath  a  million  acres, 
Ne'er  a  one  have  I," 

seemed  to  express  something  immemorial  and 
18 


CHILD-LIFE,  PAGAN  FREE 

grand.  She  seemed  to  see  hills  stretching  to 
vast  distances,  covered  with  cattle.  "  The  pied 
frog's  orchestra  "  came  to  her  with  sudden  con 
scious  meaning  as  she  sat  on  the  door-step  one 
night  eating  her  bowl  of  bread  and  milk,  and 
watching  the  stars  come  out.  These  fragments 
of  literature  expressed  the  poetry  of  certain 
things  about  her,  and  helped  her  also  to  perceive 
others. 

She  was  a  daring  swinger,  and  used  to  swing 
furiously  out  under  the  maple  trees,  hoping  to 
some  day  touch  the  branches  high  up  there,  and, 
when  her  companions  gathered  in  little  clumps 
in  dismayed  consultation,  she  swung  with  wild 
hair  floating  free,  a  sort  of  intoxication  of  delight 
in  her  heart. 

Sometimes  when  alone  she  slipped  off  her 
clothes  and  ran  amid  the  tall  corn-stalks  like  a 
wild  thing.  Her  slim  little  brown  body  slipped 
among  the  leaves  like  a  weasel  in  the  grass. 
Some  secret,  strange  delight,  drawn  from  ances 
tral  sources,  bubbled  over  from  her  pounding 
heart,  and  she  ran  and  ran  until  wearied  and 
sore  with  the  rasping  corn  leaves,  then  she  sadly 
put  on  civilized  dress  once  more. 

Her  feet  were  brown  as  toads,  but  graceful 
and  small,  and  she  washed  them  (when  the  dew 
was  heavy  enough)  by  running  in  the  wet  grass 
just  before  going  in  to  bed,  a  trick  the  boys  of 
the  neighborhood  had  taught  her.  She  ran  for- 

19 


ROSE   OF   DUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

ward  to  clean  the  insteps  and  backward  to  clean 
the  heels.  If  the  grass  was  not  wet,  she  omitted 
the  ceremony.  Dust  was  clean  anyhow.  Her 
night-gowns  were  of  most  sorry  pattern  till  her 
aunt  came;  thereafter  they  were  clean,  though  it 
mattered  little.  They  were  a  nuisance  anyway. 

She  wore  a  pink  sun-bonnet,  when  she  could 
find  one;  generally  there  were  two  or  three  hang 
ing  on  the  fences  at  remote  places.  She  sat 
down  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  because  she  had 
a  lizard's  liking  for  the  warm  soft  dust,  and  she 
paddled  in  every  pool  and  plunged  her  hand 
into  every  puddle  after  frogs  and  bugs  and 
worms,  with  the  action  of  a  crane. 

She  ate  everything  that  boys  did.  That  is  to 
say,  she  ate  sheep  sorrel,  Indian  tobacco,  roots 
of  ferns,  May  apples,  rose  leaves,  rose-buds,  raw 
turnips,  choke-cherries,  wild  crab-apples,  slippery 
elm  bark,  and  the  green  balls  on  young  oak 
trees,  as  well  as  the  bitter  acorns.  These  acorns 
she  chewed  into  pats,  and  dried  in  the  sun,  to 
eat  at  other  times,  like  a  savage. 

She  ate  pinks  and  grass  blades,  and  green 
watermelons,  and  ground  cherries,  and  black- 
haws,  and  dew-berries,  and  every  other  conceiv 
able  thing  in  the  woods  and  fields,  not  to  men 
tion  the  score  of  things  which  she  tried  and  spit 
out.  She  became  inured  to  poison  ivy  like  the 
boys  and  walked  the  forest  paths  without  fear  of 
anything  but  snakes. 

20 


CHILD-LIFE,  PAGAN   FREE 

Summer  was  one  continuous  and  busy  play- 
spell  for  her  in  those  days  before  her  lessons  be 
came  a  serious  thing,  for  as  she  sat  in  school  she 
was  experimenting  in  the  same  way.  She  chewed 
paper  into  balls  and  snapped  them  like  the  boys. 
She  carried  slips  of  elm  bark  to  chew  also,  and 
slate  pencils  she  crunched  daily.  She  gnawed 
the  corners  of  her  slate,  tasted  her  ink  and 
munched  the  cedar  of  her  pencil. 

And  through  it  all  she  grew  tall  and  straight 
and  brown.  She  could  run  like  a  partridge  and 
fight  like  a  wild-cat,  at  need.  Her  brown-black 
eyes  shone  in  her  dark  warm  skin  with  an  eager 
light,  and  her  calloused  little  claws  of  hands 
reached  and  took  hold  of  all  realities. 

The  boys  respected  her  as  a  girl  who  wasn't 
afraid  of  bugs,  and  who  could  run,  and  throw  a 
ball.  Above  all  she  was  strong  and  well. 


CHAPTER  III 

DANGEROUS  DAYS 

A  farmer's  daughter  is  exposed  to  sights  and 
sounds  which  the  city  girl  knows  nothing  of. 
Mysterious  processes  of  generation  and  birth  go 
on  before  the  eyes  of  the  farm  child,  which  only 
come  as  obscure  whisperings  to  the  city  child  of 
the  same  middle  condition.  And  these  happen 
ings  have  a  terrifying  power  to  stir  and  develop 
passions  prematurely. 

Rose  heard  occasionally  obscene  words  among 
the  hands.  She  listened  unperceived  to  the 
vulgar  cackling  of  old  women  during  afternoon 
calls.  Before  her  eyes  from  the  time  of  her 
toddling  youth  had  proceeded  the  drama  of  ani 
mal  life.  She  had  seen  it  all ;  courtship,  birth, 
death.  Nothing  escaped  her  keen,  searching, 
inquisitive  eyes.  She  asked  her  father  about 
these  dramatic  and  furious  episodes  of  the  barn 
yard,  but  he  put  her  off,  and  she  finally  ceased 
to  ask  about  them.  She  began  to  perceive  they 
were  considered  of  that  obscure  and  unmention 
able  world  of  sin,  with  which  men  alone  had 
proper  right  to  deal. 

When  the  girls  of  her  age  in  the  grasp  of 

22 


DANGEROUS   DAYS 

some  gale  of  passion,  danced  about  her  shouting 
foul  words  in  the  unknowing  way  children  have, 
she  could  not  take  part  by  word  of  mouth, 
though  she  felt  the  same  savage,  frenzied  delight 
in  it. 

She  learned  early  the  hideous  signs  which 
pass  in  the  country  to  describe  the  unnamable 
and  the  covert  things  of  human  life.  She  saw 
them  scrawled  on  the  fences,  on  school-house 
doors,  and  written  on  the  dust  of  the  road. 
There  was  no  escaping  them.  The  apparently 
shameful  fact  of  sex  faced  her  everywhere. 

And  yet  through  it  all  she  lived  a  glad,  free, 
wholesome  life.  Her  blood  was  sweet  and  clean 
,  and  kept  off  contagion.  Her  brown  skin  flushed 
with  its  unhindered  current.  She  dipped  into 
this  obscure  questionable  world  only  moment 
arily,  and  came  back  to  her  father  wholesome 
and  happy,  except  occasionally  when  some  out 
rageous  gesture  or  word  had  stricken  her  into 
weeping. 

Then  her  father  told  her  not  to  mind ;  just 
be  good  and  sweet  herself,  and  it  would  help 
the  others  to  be  good  too.  He  blundered  some 
times  and  struggled  for  words,  and  talked  in 
grotesque  riddles,  but  she  understood  his  mean 
ing  some  way  and  was  comforted. 

She  did  not  go  to  her  aunt.  She  had  heard 
her  say  coarse  words  and  she  did  not  care  to  go 
and  tell  her  of  these  strange  things.  Her  father 

23 


ROSE   OF   BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

was  her  hero  and  guide.  She  went  to  him  as 
naturally  as  to  a  mother.  It  was  a  great  thing 
for  him  to  achieve,  but  he  did  not  know  it.  Ke 
did  not  seek  it.  It  was  indeed  thrust  upon  him. 
He  would  gladly  have  escaped  from  it,  but  Rose 
refused  to  listen  to  anyone  else,  so  the  puzzled 
and  disturbed  father  continued  to  be  her  timor 
ous  guide  as  a  matter  of  need. 

He  could  not  understand  her  quick  percep 
tion —  something  seemed  to  rise  in  the  child  to 
help  him  explain.  Germs  of  latent  perception 
seemed  to  spring  up  like  a  conjuror's  magic  seed, 
here  a  kernel,  there  a  tree.  One  by  one  obscure 
ideas  rose  from  the  deep  like  bubbles,  and  burst 
into  thought  in  her  conscious  self.  A  hint, 
organized  in  her  brain  long  trains  of  sequential 
conceptions,  which  she  had  inherited  with  her 
sex.  She  did  not  require  teaching  on  the  most 
fundamental  problems  of  her  nature. 

Rose  began  to  work  early,  but  her  work,  like 
her  playing,  was  not  that  of  other  girls.  As  she 
never  played  with  dolls,  caring  more  for  hobby 
horses,  so  she  early  learned  to  do  work  in  the 
barn.  From  taking  care  of  make-believe  stick 
horses  she  came  easily  to  take  care  of  real 
horses. 

When  a  toddling  babe  she  had  moved  about 
under  the  huge  plow-horses  in  their  stalls,  and 
put  straw  about  them,  and  patted  their  columnar 
limbs  with  her  little  pads  of  palms,  talking  to 

24 


DANGEROUS   DAYS 

them  in  soft  indefinite  gurgle  of  love  and  com 
mand. 

She  knew  how  much  hay  and  oats  they 
needed,  and  she  learned  early  to  curry  them, 
though  they  resented  her  first  trials  with  the 
comb.  She  cared  less  for  the  cows  and  pigs, 
but  before  she  was  ten  she  could  milk  the  "easy" 
cows.  She  liked  the  chickens,  and  it  was  part 
of  her  daily  duty  to  feed  the  hens  and  gather 
the  eggs. 

She  could  use  a  fork  in  the  barn  deftly  as  a 
boy  by  the  time  she  was  twelve,  and  in  stacking 
times  she  handed  bundles  across  the  stack  to 
her  father.  It  was  the  variety  of  work,  perhaps, 
which  prevented  her  from  acquiring  that  pathetic 
and  lamentable  stoop  (or  crook)  in  the  shoulders 
and  back  which  many  country  girls  have  in  vary 
ing  degree. 

All  things  tended  to  make  her  powerful,  lithe 
and  erect.  The  naked  facts  of  nature  were  hers 
to  command.  She  touched  undisguised  and 
unrefined  nature  at  all  points.  Her  feet  met  not 
merely  soil,  but  mud.  Her  hands  smelled  of  the 
barn  yard  as  well  as  of  the  flowers  of  the  wild 
places  of  wood  and  meadow. 

Meanwhile  her  comradeship  was  sweet  to  John 
Butcher.  He  hardly  knew  his  loss  of  a  son  so  com 
pletely  was  he  companioned  by  Rose.  He  had 
put  far  away  the  time  when  she  should  wear  shoes 
and  long  dresses  and  become  a  "young  lady." 

25 


ROSE  OF  DUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

"  Let  her  be,  as  long  as  you  can,"  he  said  to 
his  sister.  "She 's  a  mighty  comfort  to  me  now, 
and  she's  happy;  don't  disturb  her;  time  to 
wear  long  dresses  and  corsets '11  come  soon 
enough  without  hurryin'  things." 


CHAPTER  IV 

AN   OPENING   CLOVER-BLOOM 

There  are  times  in  a  child's  life  when  it  leaps 
suddenly  into  larger  growth  as  the  imprisoned 
bud  blooms  larger  than  its  promise,  when  the 
green  fist  of  its  straining  calyx  loosens  in  the 
warm  glow  of  a  May  morning.  Knowledge" 
comes  to  the  child,  especially  all  the  subtler 
knowledge  of  time,  of  space,  of  love,  in  a  vague, 
indefinite,  unconscious  way,  developing  out  of 
the  child's  organic  self  precisely  as  the  flower 
blooms. 

This  knowledge  comes  to  definite  knowledge 
for  an  instant  only  and  then  returns  to  the  sub 
conscious,  waiting  the  next  day  of  warm  sun, 
shining  water  and  smell  of  spring.  Each  time 
it  stays  longer,  till  at  last  the  child  can  contem 
plate  its  own  thought  and  finally  express  it 
These  times  form  our  real  life  epochs. 

One  day  in  June,  a  party  of  the  school 
children,  with  flashing  tin  pails  and  willow  bas 
kets,  went  up  into  the  woods  after  the  wild-wood 
strawberries.  It  was  late  June  and  the  straw 
berries  of  the  meadows  and  uplands  were  nearly 
27 


ROSE  OF  DUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

gone.  The  roads  were  dusty,  the  pastures 
close-clipped. 

Merry,  bare-footed  little  creatures!  They 
started  forth  in  the  early  morning  while  the  dew 
still  flamed  on  the  clover- leaves,  and  around 
each  corn-hill  the  ground  was  still  moist.  The 
girls  romped  and  picked  wild  flowers,  the  boys 
threw  stones  at  the  chipmunks  on  the  fence, 
and  tossed  their  tin  pails  in  the  air,  performing 
feats  of  deftness  in  imitation  of  the  circus-men, 
whom  they  had  lately  seen  on  the  green  at 
Tyre. 

They  entered  the  forest  and  kept  on  up  the 
wood-road  until  it  seemed  as  if  they  were  ex 
plorers.  They  had  the  delicious,  tremulous 
feeling  of  having  penetrated  into  the  primeval, 
where  nothing  but  the  birds  and  animals  lived. 
On  past  cool  deeps  of  poplar,  where  the  man 
drake  grew,  and  the  sweet  fern  spread  its  mag 
nificent  leaves.  On  until  the  strawberries  ap 
peared,  growing  in  clumps  on  long  swaying 
stems,  pale  scarlet  globes  of  delicious  tartness. 

They  fell  to  work  mostly  in  pairs.  Curly- 
haired  Carl  kept  with  Rose,  and  his  sharp  eyes 
and  knowledge  of  the  patch  enabled  them  to 
fill  their  pails  first;  then  they  went  about  help 
ing  the  others,  whose  voices  babbled  on  like 
streams. 

Everywhere  the  pink  sun-bonnets  and  ragged 
straw  hats  bobbed  up  and  down.  Everywhere 
28 


AN   OPENING  CLOVER-BLOOM 

fresh  voices.  The  sunlight  fell  in  vivid  yellow 
patches  through  the  cool  odorous  gloom. 
Everywhere  the  faint  odor  of  ferns  and  man 
drakes  and  berries,  and  the  faint  rustle  of  leaves, 
as  if  the  shadows  of  the  clouds  trampled  the 
tree-tops. 

There  was  something  sweet  and  wild  and 
primeval  in  the  scene,  and  the  children  were 
carried  out  of  their  usual  selves.  Rose  herself 
danced  and  romped,  her  eyes  flashing  with 
delight.  Under  her  direction  they  all  came  to 
gether  on  a  little  slope,  where  the  trees  were 
less  thick,  and  near  a  brook  which  gurgled 
through  moss-covered  stones. 

"  O,  let 's  have  our  picnic  here  !  " 

"All  right,  let 's  !  " 

They  made  short  work  of  the  lunch  they 
had.  Their  buttered  biscuits  were  spread  with 
berries  and  mixed  with  water  from  the  brook, 
which  the  girls  drank  like  the  boys,  that  is,  by 
lying  down  on  their  breasts  and  drinking  as  the 
hunter  drinks.  Their  hunger  eased  they  fell  to 
games.  Games  centuries  old.  Games  which  the 
Skandinavians  played  in  the  edges  of  their 
pine  forests.  Games  the  English  lads  and  las 
sies  played  in  the  oak-openings  of  middle-age 
England. 

The  little  ones  were  ruled  out  after  awhile 
and  the  five  or  six  elder  children  (the  oldest 
only  fourteen),  went  on  with  their  games,  which 
29 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

told  of  love.     They  joined  hands  and  circled 
about  Carl,  they  sang  : 

"  King  William  was  King  James*  son, 
And  from  the  royal  race  he  run, 
Upon  his  breast  he  wore  a  star, 
Which  points  away  to  a  conquest  far. 
Go  choose  you  east,  go  choose  you  west, 
Go  choose  the  one  that  you  love  best." 

Carl  selected  Rose,  as  they  all  knew  he  would. 
They  stood  together  now,  holding  hands. 

"  Down  on  this  carpet  you  must  kneel, " 
(they  knelt) 

"As  sure  as  the  grass  grows  in  the  field. 
Salute  your  bride  with  a  kiss  so  sweet," 

(Carl  kissed  her  gravely) 
"  Now  you  rise  upon  your  feet." 

Again  they  circled,  and  again  a  little  bride 
and  bridegroom  knelt.  The  fresh  young  voices 
rang  under  the  spaces  of  the  trees,  silencing  the 
joy  of  the  thrush.  The  flecking  sunlight  fell  on 
their  towsled  hair  and  their  flushed  faces.  They 
had  forgotten  home  and  kindred,  and  were  liv 
ing  a  strange  new-old  life,  old  as  history,  wild 
and  free  once  more,  and  in  their  hearts  some 
thing  bloomed  like  a  flower,  something  sweet 
shook  them  all,  something  unutterable  and 
nameless,  something  magnificent  to  attain  and 
sorrowful  to  lose. 

When  they  tired  of  "King  William,"  they  all 

3° 


AN  OPENING  CLOVER-BLOOM 

flung  themselves  down  on  the  grass  and  grew 
quiet.  Some  of  the  girls  made  wreaths  of 
flowers  strung  on  grass  stems,  while  the  boys 
studied  the  insects  under  the  chips  and  stumps, 
or  came  slyly  behind  the  girls  and  stuck  spears 
of  fox-tail  down  their  necks.  Some  of  them 
rolled  down  the  bank.  Carl,  when  he  was  tired 
of  this,  came  and  lay  down  by  Rose,  and  put 
his  head  in  her  lap.  Other  bridegrooms  did 
the  same  with  their  brides.  Some  of  the  boys 
matched  violets,  by  seeing  which  would  hook  the 
other's  head  off. 

Silence  fell  on  them.  Some  passion  thrilled 
Rose  as  she  looked  down  into  Carl's  sunny  blue 
eyes.  She  brushed  his  hair  as  he  looked  up  at 
the  clouds  sailing  above  the  trees  like  wonderful 
mountains  of  snow. 

She  was  thirteen  years  of  age,  but  prophecy 
of  womanhood,  of  change,  of  sorrow,  was  in  her 
voice  as  she  said  slowly,  a  look  not  childish  upon 
her  face : 

"  I'd  like  to  live  here  forever,  would  n't  you, 
Carl?" 

"I  guess  we'd  have  to  build  a  house,"  said  Carl, 
the  practical  one. 

She  felt  a  terrible  hunger,  a  desire  to  take  his 
head  in  her  arms  and  kiss  it.  Her  muscles  ached 
and  quivered  with  something  she  could  not 
fathom.  As  she  resisted  she  grew  calm,  but 
mysteriously  sad,  as  if  something  were  passing 


ROSE   OF  BUTCHER'S   COOLLY 

from  her  forever.  The  leaves  whispered  a  mes 
sage  to  her,  and  the  stream  repeated  an  occult 
note  of  joy,  which  was  mixed  with  sorrow. 

The  struggle  of  wild  fear  and  bitter-sweet 
hunger  of  desire — this  vague,  mystical  percep 
tion  of  her  sex,  did  not  last,  to  Rose.  It  was 
lost  when  she  came  out  of  the  wood  into  the 
road  on  the  way  homeward.  It  was  a  formless 
impulse  and  throbbing  stir  far  down  below  defi 
nite  thought.  It  was  sweet  and  wild  and  inno 
cent  as  the  first  coquettish  love-note  of  the  thrush, 
and  yet  it  was  the  beginning  of  her  love-life.  It 
was  the  second  great  epoch  of  her  life. 


CHAPTER  V 

HER  FIRST  PERIL 

She  came  in  contact  during  her  school  life 
with  a  variety  of  teachers.  Most  of  the  women 
she  did  not  like,  but  one  sweet  and  thoughtful 
girl  had  her  unbounded  love  and  confidence. 
She  was  from  Madison,  that  was  in  itself  a  great 
distinction,  for  the  capital  of  the  state  had  come 
to  mean  something  great  and  beautiful  and 
heroic  to  Rose. 

There  it  was  the  governor  lived.  There  the 
soldiers  went  to  enter  the  army,  she  remembered 
hearing  the  neighbors  say,  and  her  father's 
weekly  paper  was  printed  there.  It  was  a  great 
thing  to  have  come  from  so  far  away  and  from 
Madison,  and  Rose  hung  about  the  door  of  the 
school  house  at  the  close  of  the  first  day,  hoping 
the  teacher  would  permit  her  to  walk  home  by 
her  side. 

The  young  teacher,  worried  almost  to  de 
spair  over  the  arrangement  of  her  classes,  did 
not  rise  from  her  desk  until  the  sun  was  low, 
rolling  upon  the  tree-fringed  ridge  of  the  west 
ern  bluff. 

33 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

She  was  deeply  touched  to  find  this  dusky- 
complexioned,  bare-legged  girl  waiting  for  her. 

"It  was  very  nice  of  you,  Rose,"  she  said,  and 
they  walked  off  together.  She  talked  about  the 
flowers  in  the  grass,  and  Rose  ran  to  and  fro, 
climbing  fences  to  pick  all  sorts  that  she  knew. 
She  did  not  laugh  when  the  teacher  told  her  the 
botanical  names.  She  wished  she  could  remem 
ber  them. 

"  When  you  grow  up  you  can  study  botany 
too.  But  you  must  run  home  now,  it 's  almost 
dark." 

"  I  ain't  afraid  of  the  dark,"  said  Rose  stoutly, 
and  she  went  so  far  Miss  Lavalle  was  quite 
alarmed. 

"  Now  you  must  go." 

She  kissed  the  child  good-bye,  and  Rose  ran 
off  with  her  heart  big  with  emotion,  like  an 
accepted  lover. 

It  was  well  Rose  turned  to  her  for  help,  for 
most  of  her  teachers  had  not  the  refinement  of 
Miss  Lavalle.  They  were  generally  farmers' 
daughters  or  girls  from  neighboring  towns,  who 
taught  for  a  little  extra  money  to  buy  dresses 
with — worthy  girls  indeed,  but  they  expressed  less 
of  refining  thought  to  the  children. 

One  day  this  young  teacher,  with  Rose  and 
two  or  three  other  little  ones,  was  sitting  on  a 
sunny  southward  sloping  swell.  Her  hands  were 
full  of  flowers  and  her  great  dark  eyes  were 

34 


HER  FIRST  PERIL 

opened  wide  as  if  to  mirror  the  whole  scene,  a 
valley  flooded  with  light  and  warm  with  the 
radiant  grass  of  spring.  She  was  small  and  dark 
and  dainty,  and  still  carried  the  emotional  char 
acteristics  of  her  French  ancestry.  She  saw 
nature  definitely,  and  did  not  scruple  to  say  so. 

"  O,  it  is  beautiful ! "  she  said,  as  her  eyes 
swept  along  the  high  broken  line  of  the  Western 
coule"  ridge,  down  to  the  vast  blue  cliff  where 
the  river  broke  its  way  into  the  larger  valley. 
"  Children,  see  how  beautiful  it  is  ! "  The  chil 
dren  stared  away  at  it,  but  Rose  looked  into  the 
teacher's  eager  face.  Then  her  flowers  dropped 
to  the  ground,  the  sunlight  fell  upon  her  with  a 
richer  glow,  the  dandelions  shone  like  stars  in  a 
heaven  of  green,  the  birds  and  the  wind  sang  a 
wild  clear  song  in  the  doors  of  her  ears,  and  her 
heart  swelled  with  unutterable  emotion.  She 
was  overpowered  by  the  beauty  of  the  world,  as 
she  had  been  by  its  immensity  that  day  on  the 
hill  top  with  her  father. 

She  saw  the  purple  mists,  the  smooth,  green, 
warm  slopes  dotted  with  dandelions,  and  the 
woodlands  with  their  amber,  and  purple-gray,  and 
gray-green  foliage.  The  big  world  had  grown 
distinctly  beautiful  to  her.  It  was  as  though  a 
gray  veil  had  been  withdrawn  from  the  face  of 
created  things — but  this  perception  did  not  last. 
The  veil  fell  again  before  her  eyes  when  the 
presence  of  the  teacher  was  withdrawn.  She  felt 

35 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

the  beautiful  and  splendid  phases  of  nature  and 
absorbed  and  related  them  to  herself,  but  she 
did  not  consciously  perceive  except  at  rare 
moments. 

The  men,  who  taught  in  winter,  were  blunt 
and  crude,  but  occasionally  one  of  a  high  type 
came.  Some  young  fellows  studying  law,  or 
taking  a  course  at  some  school,  teaching  to  keep 
their  place  or  to  go  higher.  These  men  studied 
nights  and  mornings  out  of  great  Latin  books 
which  were  the  wonder  of  the  children.  Such 
teachers  appealed  to  the  better  class  of  pupils 
with  great  power,  but  excited  rebellion  in  others. 

It  seemed  a  wonderful  and  important  day  to 
Rose,  the  first  time  she  entered  the  scarred  and 
greasy  room  in  winter,  because  it  was  swarming 
with  big  girls  and  boys.  She  toolc  her  seat  at 
one  of  the  little  benches  on  the  north  side  of  the 
room,  where  all  the  girls  sat.  At  some  far  time 
the  girls  had  been  put  on  that,  the  coldest  side 
of  the  house,  and  they  still  sat  there ;  change  was 
impossible. 

Rose  was  a  little  bit  awed  by  the  scene.  The 
big  boys  never  seemed  so  rough,  and  the 
big  girls  never  seemed  so  tall.  They  were  all 
talking  loudly,  hanging  about  the  old  square 
stove  which  sat  in  the  middle  of  a  puddle  of 
bricks. 

She  was  an  unimportant  factor  in  the  winter 
school,  however,  for  the  big  boys  and  girls 

36 


HER  FIRST  PERIL 

ignored  the  little  ones,  or  ordered  them  out  of 
their  games. 

In  winter  also  her  physical  superiority  to  the 
other  girls  was  less  apparent,  for  she  wore  thick 
shoes  and  shapeless  dresses  and  muffled  her  head 
and  neck  like  the  boys. 

She  plodded  to  school  along  the  deep  sleigh 
tracks,  facing  a  bitter  wind,  with  the  heart  of  a 
man.  It  made  her  cry  sometimes  but  there  was 
more  of  rage  than  fear  in  her  sobbing.  She 
coughed  and  wheezed  like  the  rest,  but  through 
it  all  her  perfect  lungs  and  sinewy  heart  carried 
her  triumphantly. 

The  winter  she  was  fourteen  years  of  age 
she  had  for  teacher  a  girl  whose  beautiful  pres 
ence  brought  a  curse  with  it.  She  was  small 
and  graceful,  with  a  face  full  of  sudden  tears  and 
laughter  and  dreams  of  desire.  She  fascinated 
the  children,  and  the  larger  boys  woke  to  a 
sudden  savagery  of  rivalry  over  her,  which  no 
one  understood.  The  older  boys  fought  over 
her  smiles  and  low-voiced  words  of  praise. 

The  girls  grew  vaguely  jealous  or  were  abject 
slaves  to  her  whims.  The  school  became  farcical 
in  session,  with  ever-increasing  play  hours  and 
ever-shortening  recitations,  and  yet  such  was  the 
teacher's  power  over  the  students  they  did  not 
report  her.  She  gathered  the  larger  girls  around 
her  as  she  flirted  with  the  young  men,  until 
children  like  Carl  and  Rose  became  a  part  of  it  all. 

37 


ROSE   OF   BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

At  night  the  young  men  of  the  neighborhood 
flocked  about  her  boarding-place,  absolutely 
fighting  in  her  very  presence  for  the  promise 
which  she  withheld,  out  of  coquettish  perversity. 
She  herself  became  a  victim  of  the  storm  of 
passion  which  swept  over  the  neighborhood. 
She  went  out  to  parties  and  dances  every  night 
and  came  languidly  to  school  each  morning. 
Most  of  the  men  of  the  district  laughed,  but  the 
women  began  to  talk  excitedly  about  the  stories 
they  heard. 

At  school  the  most  dangerous  practices  were 
winked  at.  The  older  boys  did  not  scruple  to 
put  their  arms  about  the  teacher's  waist  as  they 
stood  by  her  side.  All  the  reserve  and  purity 
which  is  organic  in  the  intercourse  of  most 
country  girls  and  boys  seemed  lost,  and  parties 
and  sleigh-rides  left  remorse  and  guilt  behind. 
There  was  something  feverish  and  unwholesome 
in  the  air. 

The  teacher's  fame  mysteriously  extended  to 
Tyre,  and  when  known  libertines  began  to  hitch 
their  horses  at  the  fence  before  her  house  and  to 
enter  into  rivalry  with  the  young  men  of  the 
neighborhood,  then  the  fathers  of  the  coul£ 
suddenly  awoke  to  their  children's  danger,  and 
turning  the  teacher  away  (tearful  and  looking 
harmless  as  a  kitten),  they  closed  and  locked  the 
school-house  door. 

Instantly   the  young  people  grew  aware  of 

38 


HER   FIRST   PERIL 

their  out-break  of  premature  passion.  Some  of 
them,  like  Rose,  went  to  their  parents  and  told 
all  they  knew  about  it.  John  Dutcher  re 
ceived  his  daughter's  answers  to  his  questions 
with  deep  sorrow,  but  he  reflected  long  before 
he  spoke.  She  was  only  a  child,  not  yet  fifteen; 
she  would  outgrow  the  touch  of  thoughtless 
hands. 

He  sent  for  Carl,  and  as  they  stood  before 
him,  with  drooping  heads,  he  talked  to  them  in 
his  low,  mild  voice,  which  had  the  power  of 
bringing  tears  to  the  sturdy  boy's  eyes. 

"  Carl,  I  thought  I  could  trust  you.  You  've 
done  wrong — don't  you  know  it?  You've 
made  my  old  heart  ache.  When  you  get  old 
and  have  a  little  girl  you  may  know  how  I  feel, 
but  you  can  't  now.  I  don  't  know  what  I  can 
say  to  you.  I  don  't  know  what  I  am  going  to 
do  about  it,  but  I  want  you  to  know  what 
you  've  done  to  me — both  of  you.  Look  into 
my  face  now — you  too,  Rose — look  into  your 
old  father's  face!" 

The  scared  children  looked  into  his  face  with 
its  streaming  tears,  then  broke  out  into  sobbing 
that  shook  them  to  their  heart's  center.  They 
could  not  bear  to  see  him  cry. 

"  That's  what  you  do  to  your  parents  when 
you  do  wrong.  I  have  n't  felt  so  bad  since  your 
mother  died,  Rose." 

The  children  sobbed  out  their  contrition  and 

39 


ROSE  OF  DUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

desire  to  do  better,  and  John  ended  it  all  at  last 
by  saying,  "  Now,  Carl,  you  may  go,  but  I  shall 
keep  watch  of  you  and  see  that  you  grow  up  a 
good,  true  man.  When  I  see  you  're  real  sorry 
I  '11  let  you  come  to  see  Rose  again." 

After  Carl  went  out,  Rose  pressed  into  his 
ready  arms.  "  I  did  n't  mean  to  be  bad,  pappa." 

"  I  know  you  did  n't,  Rosie,  but  I  want  you 
to  know  how  you  can  make  me  suffer  by  doing 
wrong — but  there,  there!  don 't  cry  any  more. 
If  you  are  good  and  kind  and  true  like  your 
mother  was  you  '11  out-grow  this  trouble.  Now 
run  away  and  help  get  supper." 

The  buoyancy  of  a  healthy  child's  nature 
enabled  her  to  throw  off  the  oppression  of  that 
dark  day,  the  most  terrible  day  of  her  life,  and 
she  was  soon  cheerful  again,  not  the  child  she 
had  been,  but  still  a  happy  child.  After  a  few 
weeks  John  sent  for  Carl  to  come  over,  and  they 
popped  corn  and  played  dominos  all  the  even 
ing,  and  the  innocency  of  their  former  childish 
companionship  seemed  restored. 


40 


CHAPTER  VI 

HER  FIRST  IDEAL 

One  June  day  a  man  came  riding  swiftly  up 
the  lanes,  in  a  buggy  with  a  gilded  box.  As  he 
passed  the  school-house  he  flung  a  handful  of 
fluttering  yellow  and  red  bills  into  the  air. 

"A  circus !  a  circus ! "  was  the  cry  as  the  boys 
rushed  for  the  blowing  sheets  of  paper.  It  was 
a  circus,  the  annual  "monstrous  aggregation  of 
Gregorian  games  and  colossal  cataracts  of  gilded 
chariots,"  and  it  was  coming  to  Tyre. 

The  children  read  every  word  of  those  high 
sounding  posters,  standing  in  knots  by  the  road 
side.  It  was  the  mightiest  event  of  their  lives. 
Most  of  them  had  never  been  to  a  circus.  Many 
had  never  been  so  far  as  Tyre.  Some  had,  how 
ever,  and  they  straightway  became  fountains  of 
wisdom,  and  declaimed  upon  the  splendors  of 
other  aggregations. 

Rose  looked  at  the  lines  of  knights  and  ladies 
winding  down  the  yellow  broad-side  of  the 
sheet,  and  wondered  if  she  would  ever  see  them. 

The  courier  rode  on.  He  flung  a  handful  of 
the  bills  over  into  the  corn-field  where  Carl  was 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

plowing  corn  with  the  hired  man,  and  Carl 
straightway  began  to  plan. 

He  flung  a  handful  of  the  alluring  yellow 
leaves  into  the  bed  of  the  wagon  which  poor  old 
John  Rapp  was  driving,  and  he  sighed  and 
wondered  how  he  would  raise  the  money  to  take 
the  children  down,  and  also  he  longed  to  see  it 
himself.  The  whole  county  awoke  to  the  signifi 
cance  of  the  event  and  began  preparation  and 
plans,  though  it  was  nearly  three  weeks  away. 
An  enormous  distance  it  seemed  to  the  boys  and 
girls. 

At  school  and  at  church  it  was  talked  of. 
The  boys  selected  their  girls,  and  parties  of  four 
or  six  were  made  up  to  go  to  Tyre,  ten  miles 
away,  in  the  larger  valley  below.  In  some  way, 
without  words,  Rose  agreed  to  go  with  Carl. 
John  Nixon  and  Ella  Pierce  made  up  the  other 
couple.  They  were  to  go  in  a  "bowery  wagon." 

The  whole  population  awoke  to  pathetic,  ab 
sorbing  interest  in  the  quality  of  the  posters  and 
the  probable  truth  of  the  fore-word.  The  circus 
was  the  mightiest  contrast  to  their  slow  and 
lonely  lives  that  could  be  imagined.  It  came  in 
trailing  clouds  of  glorified  dust  and  grouped  it 
self  under  vast  tents  whose  lift  and  fall  had 
more  majesty  than  summer  clouds,  and  its 
streamers  had  more  significance  than  the  light 
ning. 

It  brought  the  throb  of  drum  and  scream  of 
42 


HER  FIRST  IDEAL 

fife,  and  roar  of  wild  beast.  For  one  day  each 
humdrum  town  was  filled  with  romance  like  the 
Arabian  Nights ;  with  helmeted  horsemen,  glit 
tering  war  maidens  on  weirdly  spotted  horses ; 
elephants  with  howdahs  and  head-plates  of 
armor,  with  lions  dreadful,  sorrowful,  sedate  and 
savage ;  with  tigers  and  hyenas  in  unmanageable 
ferocity  pacing  up  and  down  their  gilded  dens 
while  their  impassive  keepers  dressed  in  red,  sat 
in  awful  silence  amidst  them. 

There  was  something  remote  and  splendid  in 
the  ladies  who  rode  haughtily  through  the  streets 
on  prancing  horses,  covered  with  red  and  gold 
trappings.  There  was  something  heroic,  some 
thing  of  splendid  art  in  the  pose  of  the  athletes 
in  the  ring. 

From  the  dust  and  drudgery  of  their  farms 
the  farm  boys  dreamed  and  dreamed  of  the 
power  and  splendor  of  the  pageantry.  They 
talked  it  each  Sunday  night  as  they  sat  up  with 
their  sweethearts.  The  girls  planned  their 
dresses  and  hats,  and  the  lunch  they  were  to 
take.  Everything  was  arranged  weeks  ahead. 
Carl  was  to  furnish  one  team,  John  the  other; 
Ella  was  to  bring  cake  and  jelly  and  biscuit ; 
Rose  to  take  a  chicken  and  a  short-cake. 

They  were  to  start  early  and  drive  a  certain 
route  and  arrive  at  the  ground  at  a  certain  hour 
to  see  the  parade.  After  the  parade  they  were  to 
take  dinner  at  the  hotel,  and  then  the  circus!  No 

43 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

court  ball  ever  thrilled  a  young  girl's  heart  like 
this  event. 

It  was  trebly  important  to  Rose.  It  was  her 
first  really  long  dress.  It  was  her  first  going 
out  into  the  world  with  an  escort,  and  it  was 
her  first  circus.  She  trembled  with  excitement 
whenever  she  thought  of  it,  and  sometimes 
burst  into  tears  at  the  uncertainty  of  it.  It 
might  'rain,  she  might  be  sick,  or  something 
might  happen  ! 

She  worked  away  with  feverish  haste,  trim 
ming  her  hat  and  helping  on  her  dress,  which 
was  to  be  white,  trimmed  with  real  lace  from  the 
store.  Some  dim  perception  of  what  it  all  meant 
to  his  girl,  penetrated  John  Butcher's  head,  and 
he  gave  Rose  a  dollar  to  buy  some  extra  ribbon 
with,  and  told  Mrs.  Diehl  to  give  the  child  a 
good  outfit. 

On  the  night  before  the  circus  Carl  could  not 
work  in  the  corn.  He  drove  furiously  about  the 
neighborhood  on  inconsequential  errands.  He 
called  twice  on  Rose,  and  they  looked  into  each 
other's  face  with  transports  of  fear  and  joy. 

"O,  if  it  should  rain!" 

"  It  won't.  I  just  know  it 's  going  to  be  fine. 
Don't  you  worry.  I  am  the  son  of  a  prophet.  I 
know  it  can't  rain." 

There  was  no  real  sleep  for  Rose  that  night. 
Twice  she  woke  from  an  uneasy  doze,  thinking 
she  heard  the  patter  of  rain,  but  listening  close 

44 


HER  FIRST  IDEAL 

she  knew  it  was  only  the  rustle  of  the  cotton- 
wood  trees  about  the  house. 

Her  room  was  a  little  rough-plastered  garret 
room,  with  an  eastern  window,  and  at  last  she 
saw  the  yellow  light  inter-filtrate  the  dark-blue 
of  the  eastern  sky,  and  she  rose  and  pattered 
about  in  her  bare  feet,  while  she  put  up  her  hair 
like  a  woman  and  slipped  on  her  underskirt, 
stiff  with  starch,  and  then  her  dress,  with  its 
open-work  sleeves  and  ruche  of  lace,  threaded 
with  blue  ribbon.  She  moved  about  on  her  bare 
feet,  rejoicing  in  the  crisp  rustle  of  her  new 
clothing,  and  put  on  her  wide  hat  with  its  hectic 
rose-buds  and  pans-green  thick  leaves.  Her  un- 
distorted  feet  were  the  most  beautiful  of  all,  but 
she  did  not  know  that. 

She  sat  on  the  bed  completely  dressed,  but 
hardly  daring  to  move  for  fear  of  waking  her 
aunt.  She  watched  the  yellow  glow  deepen  to  a 
saffron  dome  of  ever-spreading  light.  She  knew 
the  weather  signs  herself,  and  she  was  sure  the 
day  was  to  be  hot  but  clear.  She  did  not  fear 
the  heat. 

As  she  sat  so,  a  feeling  of  joy,  of  realization 
of  the  abounding  goodness  and  sweetness  of  liv 
ing,  made  her  want  to  thank  something — to  give 
praise.  She  moved  her  lips  in  a  little  prayer  of 
thanks  to  the  sun,  as  his  first  glittering  rim  of 
light  came  above  the  low  hills. 

"  Rosie  !"  called  Mrs.  Diehl. 

45 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

"  I  'm  up,"  she  replied,  and  hastily  drew  on 
her  shoes  and  stockings.  She  took  her  hat  in 
her  hands  and  went  down  the  stairs  and  through 
the  little  sitting  room  out  to  the  doorstep.  She 
heard  someone  whistling.  Then  a  shout  of 
laughter — they  were  coming  ! 

She  had  packed  her  basket  the  night  before, 
and  she  stood  ready  at  the  gate  when  Carl  and 
his  companions  drove  up.  They  had  four 
horses  hitched  to  a  large  wagon,  which  was  set 
about  with  branches  of  oak  and  willow.  Carl 
was  driving  and  Rose  mounted  to  the  front  seat 
with  him.  He  cracked  his  whip  and  they  whirled 
away,  leaving  the  old  folks  calling  warnings 
after  them. 

The  sun  was  just  rising,  the  dew  was  still 
globed  on  the  wild  roses.  The  wagon  rumbled, 
the  bower  over  their  heads  shook  with  the  jar  of 
the  wheels.  The  horses  were  fresh  and  strong 
and  the  day  was  before  them.  Rose  felt  some 
thing  vague  and  sweet,  something  that  laved  the 
whole  world  like  sunlight.  She  was  too  happy 
to  sing.  She  only  sat  and  dreamed.  She  felt 
her  clothes,  but  she  was  no  longer  acutely  con 
scious  of  them. 

Carl  was  moved  too,  but  his  emotion  vented 
itself  in  shouts  and  cheery  calls  to  the  horses, 
and  to  the  pistol-like  cracking  of  his  whip. 

He  looked  at  her  with  clear-eyed  admiration. 
She  abashed  him  a  little  by  her  silence.  She 
46 


HER   FIRST  IDEAL 

seemed  so  strangely  womanly  in  that  pose,  and 
the  glow  of  her  firm  arms  through  her  sleeve 
was  alien,  somehow. 

The  road  led  around  hill  sides,  under  young 
oak  trees,  across  dappled  sands,  and  over  little 
streams  where  the  horses  stopped  to  drink.  It 
was  like  some  world-old  idyl,  this  ride  in  a 
heavy  rumbling  wagon ;  it  led  to  glory  and 
light,  this  road  among  the  hills. 

Rounding  a  long  low  line  of  bluffs  they  caught 
the  flutter  of  flags  in  Tyre,  and  saw  the  valley 
spotted  with  other  teams,  crawling  like  beetles 
down  the  sandy  river  roads.  The  whole  land 
seemed  to  be  moving  in  gala  dress  toward  Tyre. 
Everywhere  appeared  the  same  expectancy,  the 
same  exultation  between  lovers. 

Carl  pulled  up  with  a  flourish  at  the  wooden 
porch  of  the  Farmers'  Hotel,  and  the  girls 
alighted  and  went  into  the  parlor,  while  the 
boys  took  the  horses  into  a  back  alley  and  gave 
them  their  oats  and  hay  in  the  end  of  the  box. 

As  Rose  walked  into  the  parlor,  filled  with 
other  girls  and  young  men,  the  proud  conscious 
ness  of  her  clothes  came  back  to  her,  and  she 
carried  herself  with  a  lift  of  the  head,  which 
made  her  dark  gipsy-like  face  look  haughty  as  a 
young  queen's.  She  knew  her  dress  was  as  good 
as  any  other  there,  and  she  had  no  need  to  be 
ashamed,  and  besides  it  was  her  first  long  dress, 
and  she  wore  low  shoes. 

47 


ROSE  OF  DUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

The  boys  came  bustling  back  and  hurried 
the  girls  out  on  the  sidewalk.  "  They  're  com 
ing  ! "  they  cried  breathlessly,  as  a  far-off  burst  of 
music  came  in  on  a  warm  puff  of  wind. 

On  they  came,  a  band  leading  the  way.  Just 
behind,  with  glitter  of  lance  and  shine  of 
helmet,  came  a  dozen  knights  and  fair  ladies 
riding  spirited  chargers.  They  all  looked 
strange  and  haughty  and  sneeringly  indifferent 
to  the  cheers  of  the  people.  The  women  seemed 
small  and  firm  and  scornful,  and  the  men  rode 
with  lances  uplifted  looking  down  at  the  crowd 
with  a  haughty  droop  in  their  eyelids. 

Rose  shuddered  with  a  new  emotion  as  they 
swept  past.  She  had  never  looked  into  eyes 
like  those.  They  had  wearied  of  all  splendor 
and  triumph,  those  eyes.  They  cared  nothing 
for  flaunt  of  flag  or  blast  of  bugle.  They 
rode  straight  out  of  the  wonder  and  mystery 
of  the  morning  to  her.  They  came  from  the 
unknown  spaces  of  song  and  story  beyond  the 
hills. 

The  chariots  rumbled  by  almost  unheeded 
by  Rose.  She  did  not  laugh  at  the  clown  jig 
gling  by  in  a  pony-cart  for  there  was  a  face  be 
tween  her  and  all  that  followed.  The  face  of  a 
bare-armed  knight,  with  brown  hair  and  a  curl 
ing  mustache,  whose  proud  neck  had  a  curve  in 
it  as  he  bent  his  head  to  speak  to  his  rearing 
horse.  He  turned  his  face  toward  where  Rose 

48 


HER  FIRST   IDEAL 

stood,  and  her  soul  fluttered,  and  her  flesh 
shrank  as  if  from  fire,  but  he  rode  on.  His 
face  was  fine,  like  pictures  she  had  seen.  It 
was  a  pleasant  face,  too  proud,  but  not  coarse  and 
stern  like  the  others. 

The  calliope,  (a  musical  monster,  hideous  as 
the  hippopotamus)  and  the  dens  of  beasts  went 
past  without  arousing  her  interest;  then  the  open 
•cage  of  lions  rolled  by  with  a  trainer  carelessly 
seated  on  a  camp  stool  amid  his  dun-colored 
monsters.  His  gaudy  red-and-gold  continental 
coat  and  his  impassive  face  made  a  deep  im 
pression  on  her.  At  last  the  procession  passed, 
carrying  with  it  swarms  of  detached  boys  and 
girls,  whose  parents  fearfully  called  after  them 
and  unavailingly  plead  with  them  to  come  back 
as  they  broke  away. 

"O,  I  wish  it  would  all  come  by  again!" 
sighed  Ella. 

"  So  do  I,"  said  Carl. 

Rose  remained  silent.  Somehow  those 
knights  and  ladies  dwarfed  all  else.  She  did 
not  look  forward  to  eating  a  hotel  dinner  with 
the  same  pleasure  now,  but  was  eager  to  get  to  the 
tent,  whose  pennants  streamed  above  the  roofs 
of  the  houses. 

The  hotel  swarmed  with  farmer  folks,  whose 
loud  voices  uttered  shouts  of  satisfaction  over 
the  promise  of  the  parade.  It  was  the  best  ever 
seen  in  the  town. 

49 


ROSE   OF   BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

"  Right  this  way,  ladies  and  gentlemen,"  said 
the  landlord,  as  he  ushered  Carl's  party  down  to 
a  table  at  the  end  of  the  dining-room. 

Rose  felt  a  thrill  of  delight;  she  was  a  grown 
up  person  at  last.  This  landlord  recognized  her 
assumption  and  it  made  the  dinner  almost  en 
joyable.  She  saw  no  one  better  dressed  than 
herself,  and  she  had  a  feeling  that  she  was  good 
to  look  at.  She  was  really  more  beautiful  than 
she  knew.  A  city  drummer  sitting  at  another 
table  eyed  her  all  through  the  meal  with  breath 
less  admiration.  Her  health  and  color,  and  the 
firm  lines  of  her  nose  and  chin  were  especially 
attractive. 

They  all  ate  with  unusual  formality,  using 
their  forks  instead  of  knives  for  their  pie,  and 
otherwise  trying  to  seem  citified.  Ella  laughed 
at  the  antics  John  cut  up  over  his  fork,  and  the 
sly  digs  that  he  gave  Carl,  who  chased  the  crust 
of  his  pie  around  his  plate  with  a  fork  and  at 
last  gave  it  up  and  seized  it  with  his  fingers. 

No  one  noticed  these  pranks,  because  every 
one  else  was  carrying  on  in  much  the  same  way. 
At  length  they  rose  and  returned  to  the  parlor, 
where  they  sat  about  on  the  cheap  red  plush 
chairs  and  waited  for  i  o'clock. 

"Well,  it's  about  time  to  go,"  said  Carl,  on 
one  of  his  re-entries  from  the  street.  "  Gee- 
Whittaker!  but  it's  hot  out  there!" 

"It'll  be  cool  under  the  tent." 


HER   FIRST  IDEAL 

"Well,  come  on." 

Out  on  the  street  they  joined  the  stream  of 
lovers  like  themselves,  moving  hand  in  hand 
down  the  walk,  assaulted  by  cries  of  lemonade, 
candy  and  fruit  hucksters. 

The  sun  beat  upon  their  heads  ;  a  dust  arose 
from  the  feet  of  the  passing  teams  and  settled 
upon  the  white  dresses  of  the  girls,  and  sank 
through  the  meshes  of  their  sleeves  and  gathered 
in  the  moist  folds  of  their  ruches.  They  moved 
on  rapidly  toward  the  clanging  band,  the  flutter 
of  the  pennants  and  the  brazen  outcries  of  the 
ticket-takers. 

On  to  the  square  before  the  tents,  thronged 
with  innumerable  people,  an  avenue  of  side 
shows  faced  them  like  a  gauntlet  to  be  run. 
Before  each  flapping  sign  of  fat  woman,  or  snake 
charmer,  stood  a  man  who  cried  in  strange, 
clanging,  monotonous  and  rhythmical  voice  : 

"You  still  have  a  half  an  hour,  ladies  and 
gentlemen,  before  the  great  show  opens.  Come 
in  and  see  the  wonders  of  the  world." 

Before  the  ticket  wagon  a  straggling,  excited 
crowd  wrestled,  suspicious,  determined,  hurried. 
Leaving  their  girls  in  the  more  open  space,  the 
boys  drew  deep  breaths  of  resolution  and  plunged 
into  the  press  with  set,  determined  faces. 

They  returned  soon,  hot,  disarranged  but  tri 
umphant.  "Come  on,  girls." 

They  moved  upon  the  main  entrance,  where 


ROSE   OF   DUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

a  man  stood  snatching  at  the  tickets  which  were 
handed  to  him.  He  was  humorous,  and  talked 
as  he  pushed  the  people  in. 

"  Hurry  up,  old  man ;  trot  close  after  your 
mother.  Have  your  tickets  ready,  everybody. 
Yes,  right  this  way,  uncle.  Bless  your  dear  little 
face — right  ahead.  H'y'ere,  bub,  this  ticket's 
no  good!  —  Oh,  so  it  is,  I  didn't  see  the  right 
side — get  on  quick." 

As  Rose  passed  him  he  said,  "  You  go  in  free, 
my  dear,"  and  resumed  his  bawling  cry,  "  Have 
your  tickets  ready." 

Under  the  tent !  Rose  looked  up  at  the  lift 
ing,  tremulous,  translucent  canvas  with  such  awe 
as  the  traveler  feels  in  St.  Peter's  dome.  Her 
feet  stumbled  on,  while  she  clung  to  Carl's  hand 
without  knowing  it.  O,  the  enormous  crowds  of 
people,  the  glitter  and  change  of  it  all! 

They  followed  in  the  stream  which  flowed 
around  the  circle  of  animal  dens,  and  Rose 
silently  looked  at  all  she  saw.  The  others  laughed 
and  exclaimed,  but  she  did  not.  Everything 
seemed  inexplicable  and  mysterious,  and  roused 
confusing  trains  of  thought. 

She  saw  the  great  tigers,  and  caught  the  yel 
low-green  sheen  of  their  eyes.  She  saw  the  lions 
rise  like  clouds  of  dust  in  their  corners,  silent  as 
mist  and  terrible  as  lightning.  She  looked  at 
the  elephant  and  wondered  how  he  could  live 
and  be  so  like  the  toy  elephants  she  had  at 

52 


HER  FIRST  IDEAL 

home.  On  past  shrieking  tropical  birds  and 
grunting,  wallowing  beasts,  and  chattering 
crowds  of  people  she  moved,  without  a  word, 
till  they  came  around  to  the  circus  entrance, 
and  then  she  lifted  her  eyes  again  around  the 
great  amphitheater. 

"  Peanuts,  peanuts  here,  five  a  bag!  " 
"  Here's  your  lemonade,  cool  and  fresh." 
On  all  sides  brazen-voiced  young  men  were 
selling,  at   appalling    prices,    sticks   of    candy, 
glasses  of  lemonade,  palm-leaf  fans  and  popcorn 
balls.     There  was  something   about    them  that 
frightened  her,  and  she  walked  a  little  closer  to 
Carl. 

They  heard  familiar  voices  call  and  saw  some 
young  people  from  their  coule",  and  so  clambered 
up  where  they  sat.  The  boards  were  narrow  and 
the  seats  low,  but  nobody  minded  that,  for  that 
was  part  of  the  circus. 

They  were  settled  at  last  and  ready  to  enjoy 
all  that  came.  Two  or  three  volunteered  to  say: 
"This  is  great!  the  best  place  to  see  'em  come 
in."  Then  they  passed  the  peanut  bag  in  reck 
less  liberality. 

Rose  sat  in  a  dream  of  delight  as  the  band 
began  to  play.  It  was  an  ambitious  band  and 
played  operatic  selections  with  modulations,  and 
it  seemed  to  Rose  to  be  the  most  splendid  music 
in  the  world.  All  other  bands  she  had  heard 
played  right  along  tum-tummy  tum-tummy 

53 


ROSE   OF   DUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

tummy,  tummy-tum.  This  band  sang  and  talked 
and  whispered  and  dreamed.  It  shook  her  like 
a  stallion's  neigh,  and  soothed  her  like  the  coo 
of  a  dove  on  the  barn  roof. 

She  heard  nothing, that  was  said  about  her,  and 
she  did  not  know  she  sat  squeezing  Carl's  arm. 

People  streamed  by  in  enormous  crowds. 
Ladies  in  elegant  dresses,  and  hats  such  as  she 
had  never  seen  before.  Handsome  young  men 
went  by,  and  yet  she  gave  them  no  second  look. 
They  were  like  figures  in  a  dream. 

At  last  the  band  blared  an  announcing  note, 
and  the  uniformed  attendants  filed  into  the  ring 
and  took  positions  at  set  points  like  sentries. 
Then  the  music  struck  into  a  splendid  galop, 
and  out  from  the  curtained  mysteries  beyond, 
the  knights  and  ladies  darted,  two  and  two,  in 
glory  of  crimson  and  gold,  and  green  and  silver. 
At  their  head  rode  the  man  with  the  brown 
mustache. 

They  came  around  into  position,  and  then  be 
gan  a  series  of  bewildering  changes,  directed  by 
her  knight,  whose  shout  dominated  the  noise  of 
the  horses  and  the  blare  of  the  band,  with  hollow 
wild  sound. 

They  vanished  as  they  came,  and  then  came 
the  clowns,  and  tricks  and  feats  of  strength.  The 
iron-jawed  woman  lifted  incredible  weights ;  the 
Japanese  jugglers  tossed  cannon-balls,  knives 
and  feathers;  the  baby  elephant  stood  on  his 

54 


HER   FIRST   IDEAL 

head — and  then  suddenly  six  men  dressed  in 
tights  of  blue  and  white  and  orange  ran  into  the 
ring,  and  her  hero  led  them. 

He  wore  blue  and  silver,  and  on  his  breast 
was  a  rosette.  He  looked  a  god  to  her.  His 
naked  limbs,  his  proud  neck,  the  lofty  carriage 
of  his  head,  made  her  shiver  with  emotion. 
They  all  came  to  her  lit  by  the  white  radiance; 
they  were  not  naked,  they  were  beautiful,  but  he 
was  something  more. 

She  had  seen  naked  boys,  and  her  own  com 
panions  occasionally  showed  themselves  naked 
and  cowering  before  her,  but  these  men  stood 
there  proud  and  splendid.  They  invested  their 
nakedness  with  something  which  exalted  them. 
They  became  objects  of  luminous  beauty  to  her, 
though  she  knew  nothing  of  art. 

As  she  grew  clearer- eyed,  she  saw  that  one 
was  a  little  too  short,  another  too  lean,  but  he  of 
the  rosette  was  perfect.  The  others  leaped,  with 
him,  doing  the  same  feats,  but  as  distances  were 
increased,  and  the  number  of  camels  and  horses 
grew,  the  others  stood  by  to  see  him  make  his 
renowned  double  somersault  over  a  herd  of  ani 
mals.  When  the  applause  broke  out  she  joined 
it,  while  her  temples  throbbed  with  emotion. 
To  see  him  bow  and  kiss  his  fingers  to  the  audi 
ence  was  a  revelation  of  manly  grace  and  cour 
tesy.  He  moved  under  the  curtain,  bowing  still 
to  the  cheering  crowd. 

55 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

Once  more  he  came  back  later  on,  leading  a 
woman  by  the  hand.  She  too  was  in  tights 
throughout,  and  like  him  she  walked  with  a 
calm  and  powerful  movement,  but  she  seemed 
petty  beside  him. 

Something  new  seized  upon  Rose's  heart,  a 
cold  contraction  that  she  had  never  felt,  and 
her  teeth  pressed  together.  She  wondered  if 
the  woman  were  his  wife. 

The  woman  seized  a  rope  with  her  right  arm 
and  was  drawn  to  the  tent  roof.  He  took  a 
strap  in  his  mouth  and  was  drawn  to  his  trapeze 
also.  There,  in  mid-air,  they  performed  their 
dangerous  evolutions.  It  was  all  marvelous  and 
incredible  to  the  country  girl. 

She  heard  him  clap  his  hands,  then  his 
glorious  voice  rang  above  the  music,  and  the 
lithe  figure  of  his  companion  launched  itself 
through  the  air,  was  caught  by  the  shoulders  in 
his  great  hands,  thence  with  a  twist  he  tossed 
her,  and  hooked  her  by  the  hands. 

Each  time,  the  blood  surged  into  Rose's 
throat  as  if  to  suffocate  her.  A  horrible  fear 
that  was  a  pleasure,  some  way,  rose  and  fell  in 
her.  She  could  not  turn  away  her  head.  She 
must  look. 

She  was  a  powerful  girl,  and  the  idea  of 
fainting  had  never  come  to  her,  but  when  at  the 
conclusion,  he  dropped  in  a  revolving  ball  into 
the  net  far  beneath,  she  turned  sick  and  her  eyes 

56 


HER  FIRST  IDEAL 

seemed  to  whirl  in  their  sockets.  Then  as  he 
leaped  to  the  ground,  bowing  and  smiling,  the 
blood  rushed  back  to  her  face,  and  the  perspira 
tion  stood  like  rain  on  her  face. 

Thereafter  riders  came,  and  the  clowns 
capered,  and  the  ring-master  cracked  his  whip 
and  she  enjoyed  it,  but  it  was  an  after-climax. 
She  saw  it,  but  saw  it  dimly.  Nothing  but  the 
lions  and  their  trainers  aroused  her  to  applause. 
Her  brain  was  full.  It  was  a  feast  of  glories 
and  her  very  hunger  made  her  lay  hold  upon 
the  first  that  came,  to  the  neglect  of  what  came 
after. 

At  last  the  brazen,  resounding  voice  of  the 
ring-master  announced  the  last  of  the  show, 
and  the  audience  arose  and  moved  out  in  a 
curious  sort  of  a  hush,  as  if  in  sorrow  to  think 
it  was  all  over,  and  the  humdrum  world  was 

. 

rushing  back  upon  them. 

Rose  moved  along  in  perfect  silence,  clinging 
to  Carl's  hand.  Around  her  was  the  buzz  of 
low  speech,  the  wailing  of  tired  and  hungry 
babies  and  the  clamor  of  attendants  selling 
tickets  for  the  minstrel  show  to  follow. 

Suddenly  she  perceived  that  her  dress  was 
wet  with  perspiration  and  grimy  with  dust.  She 
saw  all  about  her  women  with  flushed  faces  and 
grimy  hands,  their  hats  awry  and  their  brows 
wrinkled  with  trouble  over  fretful  children. 
The  men  walked  along  with  their  coats  over 

57 


ROSE   OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

their  arms,  and  their  hats  pushed  back.  The 
dust  arose  under  their  feet  with  a  strange  smell. 
Out  in  the  animal  tent  the  odor  was  stifling  and 
Rose  hurried  Carl  out  into  the  open  air. 

Somehow  it  seemed  strange  to  see  the  same 
"blue  sky  arching  the  earth;  things  seemed  ex 
actly  the  same  and  yet  Rose  had  grown  older. 
She  had  developed  immeasurably  in  those  few 
hours.  It  took  her  some  time  to  fully  recover  the 
use  of  her  feet,  and  it  took  longer  to  get  back  a 
full  realization  of  where  she  was. 

The  grass,  crushed  and  trampled  and  littered 
with  paper,  and  orange  peel,  gave  out  a  fresh 
farm-like  odor,  that  helped  her  to  recover  her 
self.  She  would  not  talk,  she  could  not  talk  yet. 
She  only  urged  them  to  go  home.  She  wanted 
to  get  home  to  think. 

As  they  climbed  the  slope  on  the  other  side 
of  the  river,  they  looked  back  at  the  tents  with 
their  wilted  streamers,  at  the  swarming  bug-like 
teams  and  the  ant-like  human  beings,  and  it 
seemed  to  Rose  as  if  she  should  weep,  so  poig 
nant  was  her  sense  of  personal  loss. 

She  knew  something  sweet  and  splendid  and 
jmystical  was  passing  out  of  her  life  after  a  few 
hours'  stay  there.  Her  feeling  of  loss  was  none 
:the  less  real  because  it  was  indefinable  to  her. 

The  others  chattered  about  each  part  of  the 
•.show,  and  shouted  admiration  about  this  and 

58 


HER  FIRST  IDEAL 

that  feat,  but  Rose  was  silent.  When  they 
stopped  at  sunset  beside  a  spring  to  eat  their 
lunch  she  merely  said : 

"  I  do  n't  feel  hungry." 

The  others  fell  silent  after  a  time,  and  they 
rode  dreamily  forward,  with  the  roll  of  wheels 
making  them  sleepy  and  the  trample  of  the 
horses'  feet  telling  them  how  rapidly  they  were 
leaving  their  great  day's  pleasure  behind  them. 

When  Rose  huddled  into  her  little  attic  bed, 
her  eyes  were  wide  open,  and  her  brain  active  as 
at  noonday.  There  was  no  sleep  for  her  then. 
Lying  there  in  the  darkness  she  lived  it  all  over 
again ;  the  flutter  of  flags,  the  wild  voices,  the 
blare  of  music,  the  chariots,  the  wild  beasts,  the 
knights  and  ladies,  the  surging  crowds;  but  the 
crowning  glory,  the  pictures  which  lingered 
longest  in  her  mind  were  the  splendid  and  beau 
tiful  men,  whose  naked  majesty  appealed  to  her 
pure  wholesome  awakening  womanhood,  with  the 
power  of  beauty  and  strength  combined,  with 
sex  and  art  both  included. 

These  glorious,  glittering  graceful  beings 
with  their  marvelous  strength  and  bravery  filled 
her  with  a  deep  sad  hunger,  which  she  could  not 
understand.  They  came  out  of  the  unknown, 
led  by  her  chosen  one,  like  knights  in  Ivanhoe. 

She  fell  asleep  thinking  of  the  one  in  blue 
and  silver,  and  in  her  sleep  she  grew  braver  and 
went  closer  to  him,  and  he  turned  and  spoke  to 

59 


ROSE  OF  DUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

her,  and  his  voice  was  like  waters  running,  and 
his  eyes  shone  some  way  into  her  eyes  like  a 
light. 

When  she  rose  the  next  day  she  was  changed. 
She  moved  about  the  house  dull  and  languid. 
Never  before  had  she  failed  to  sleep  when  her 
head  touched  the  pillow.  She  managed  to  be 
alone  most  of  the  time,  and  at  last  her  mind 
cleared.  She  began  to  live  for  him,  her  ideal. 
She  set  him  on  high  as  a  being  to  be  worshiped, 
as  a  man  fit  to  be  her  judge. 

In  the  days  and  weeks  which  followed  she 
asked  herself,  "Would  he  like  me  to  do  this?" 
or  she  thought,  "  I  must  not  do  that.  What 
would  he  think  of  me  if  he  saw  me  now?"  And 
every  night  when  she  went  to  sleep  it  was  with 
the  radiant  figure  in  blue  and  silver  before  her 
eyes. 

When  the  sunset  was  very  beautiful,  she 
thought  of  him.  When  the  stars  seemed  larger 
in  the  blue  sky,  she  could  see  the  star  upon  his 
grand  breast.  She  knew  his  name  ;  she  had  the 
bill  in  her  little  box  of  trinkets,  and  she  could 
take  it  out  and  read,  "William  De  Lisle,  the 
world-famous  leader  in  ground  and  lofty  tum 
bling,  in  his  stupendous  leap  over  two  elephants, 
six  camels  and  two  horses." 

In  all  the  talk  of  the  circus  which  followed 
among  her  companions,  she  took  no  part  be- 
60 


HER   FIRST   IDEAL 

cause  she  feared  she  might  be  obliged  to  men 
tion  his  name.  When  others  spoke  his  name 
she  could  feel  a  hot  flush  surge  up  all  over  her 
body  and  she  trembled  for  fear  some  one  might 
discover  her  adoration  of  him. 

She  went  about  with  Carl  and  Rob  as  before, 
only  she  no  longer  longed  for  them ;  they 
seemed  good,  familiar  comrades,  but  nothing 
more.  To  them  she  seemed  stranger  every  day. 
Her  eyes  had  lost  their  clear,  brave  look  ;  they 
were  dreamy  black,  and  her  lids  drooped. 

Vast  ambitions  began  in  her.  She  de 
termined  to  be  a  great  scholar.  She  would  be 
something  great  for  his  sake.  She  could  not  de 
termine  what,  but  she,  too,  would  be  great.  At 
first  she  thought  of  being  a  circus  woman,  and 
then  she  determined  that  was  impossible. 

She  dreamed  often  of  being  his  companion 
and  coming  on  hand  in  hand  with  him,  bowing 
to  the  multitude,  but  when  she  was  drawn  to  the 
tent-roof,  she  awoke  in  a  cold  sweat  of  fear,  and 
so  she  determined  to  be  a  writer.  She  would 
write  books  like  Ivanhoe.  Those  were  great 
days !  Her  mind  expanded  like  the  wings  of  a 
young  eagle.  She  read  everything  ;  the  Ledger, 
the  Weekly,  and  all  the  dog-eared  novels  of  im 
passioned  and  unreal  type  in  the  neighborhood. 

In  short,  she  consecrated  herself  to  him  as  to 
a  king,  and   seized  upon  every  chance  to  edu 
cate  herself  to  be  worthy  of  him.     Every  effort 
61 


ROSE   OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

was  deeply  pathetic,  no  matter  how  absurd  to 
others.  She  took  no  counsel,  allowed  no  confi 
dants.  She  lived  alone  among  her  play-mates. 

This  ideal  came  in  her  romantic  and  perfer- 
vid  period,  and  it  did  her  immeasurable  good. 
It  lifted  her  and  developed  her.  It  enabled  her 
to  escape  the  clutch  of  mere  brute  passion  which 
seizes  so  many  boys  and  girls  at  that  age,  and 
leads  to  destructive  early  marriages.  It  kept 
her  out  of  reach  of  the  young  men  of  the  neigh 
borhood. 

She  did  not  refuse  the  pleasures  of  the 
autumn  and  the  winter,  only  she  did  not  seem  so 
hearty  in  her  enjoyment  of  the  rides  and  parties. 
She  rode  with  the  young  fellows  on  moon-lit 
nights,  lying  side  by  side  with  them  on  the 
straw-filled  bottom  of  the  sleigh,  and  her  heart 
leaped  with  the  songs  they  sang,  but  it  all  went 
out  towards  her  ideal;  he  filled  the  circle  of  her 
mind.  The  thought  of  him  made  the  night 
magical  with  meaning.  As  she  danced  with 
Carl  it  was  her  hero's  arm  she  felt.  At  night, 
when  Carl  left  her  on  the  door-step,  she  looked 
up  at  the  stars  and  the  sinking  moon,  and  lifted 
her  face  in  a  wild  vow,  inarticulate  —  "  I  will  be 
worthy  of  him! "That  was  the  passionate  resolu 
tion,  but  it  did  not  reach  to  the  definiteness  of 
words. 

As  she  worked  about  the  house  she  took 
graceful  attitudes,  and  wished  he  might  see  her; 
62 


HER  FIRST  IDEAL 

he  would  be  pleased  with  her.  The  grace  and 
power  of  her  arm  acquired  new  meaning  to  her. 
Her  body,  she  recognized,  had  something  the 
same  statuesque  pose  of  his.  In  the  secrecy  of 
her  room  she  walked  up  and  down,  feeling  the 
splendid  action  of  her  nude  limbs  muscled 
almost  like  his.  And  all  this  was  fine  and  pure 
physical  joy.  Her  idea  remained  indefinite, 
wordless. 

These  were  days  of  formless  imaginings  and 
ambitions.  "I  will  do!  1  will  do!"  was  her 
ceaseless  cry  to  herself,  but  what  could  she  do? 
What  should  she  do? 

She  could  be  wise;  that  she  would  be.  So  she 
read.  She  got  little  out  of  her  reading  that  she 
could  make  a  showing  of,  but  still  it  developed 
her.  It  made  her  dream  great  things,  impossi 
ble  things,  but  she  had  moments  when  she  tried 
to  live  these  things. 

Meanwhile  her  manners  changed.  She  be 
came  absent-minded,  and  seemed  sullen  and 
haughty  to  her  companions  at  times.  She  never 
giggled  like  the  rest  of  the  girls.  She  had  fine 
teeth,  and  yet  her  smile  was  infrequent.  She 
laughed  when  occasion  demanded,  and  laughed 
heartily,  but  she  was  not  easily  stirred  to  laughter. 

Just  in  proportion  as  she  ignored  the  young 
beaux,  so  they  thronged  about  her.  One  or  two 
of  them  eyed  her  with  a  look  which  made  her 
angry.  She  took  refuge  in  Carl's  company,  and 

63 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

so  escaped  much  persecution,  for  Carl  was  grow 
ing  to  be  a  powerful  young  man,  with  fists  like 
mauls,  and  was  respected  among  the  athletes  of 
the  neighborhood. 

She  did  not  realize  that  she  would  need  at 
some  time  to  settle  with  Carl.  She  accepted  his 
company  as  a  matter  of  course.  He  filled  social 
requirements  for  the  time  being. 

Her  teacher  that  winter  was  a  plaintive  sort 
of  a  little  middle-aged  man,  a  man  of  consider 
able  refinement,  but  with  little  force.  Rose  liked 
him,  but  did  not  respect  him  as  she  had  two  or 
three  of  the  men  who  had  filled  the  teacher's  chair. 
She  could  not  go  to  him  for  advice. 

As  the  winter  wore  on  the  figure  of  "William 
De  Lisle"  grew  dimmer,  but  not  less  beautiful. 
Her  love  for  him  lost  its  under-current  of  inarticu 
late  expectancy;  it  was  raised  into  a  sentiment  so 
ethereal  it  would  seem  a  breath  of  present  pas 
sion  would  scatter  it  like  vapor,  and  yet  it  was 
immovable  as  granite.  Time  alone  could  change 
it.  He  still  dominated  her  thought  at  quiet 
times,  at  dark  when  the  stars  began  to  shine,  but 
in  the  daytime  he  was  faint  as  a  figure  in  a 
dream. 


64 


CHAPTER  VII 

ROSE   MEETS   DR.  THATCHER 

The  school-house  in  Butcher's  coule",  like  most 
country  school-houses,  was  a  squalid  little  den. 
It  was  as  gray  as  a  rock  and  as  devoid  of  beauty 
as  a  dry  goods  box.  It  sat  in  the  midst  of  the 
valley  and  had  no  trees,  to  speak  of,  about  it, 
and  in  winter  it  was  almost  as  snow-swept  as  the 
school-houses  of  the  prairie. 

Its  gray  clap-boarding  was  hacked  and  scarred 
with  knife  and  stone,  and  covered  with  mud  and 
foul  marks.  A  visitor  who  had  turned  in  from 
the  sun-smit  winter  road  paused  before  knock 
ing  and  looked  at  the  walls  and  the  door  with  a 
feeling  of  mirth  and  sadness.  Was  there  no 
place  to  escape  the  obscene  outcome  of  sexual 
passion  ? 

Dr.  Thatcher  had  been  a  pupil  here  in  this 
same  school-house  more  than  twenty  years 
before,  and  the  droning,  shuffling  sound  within 
had  a  marvelous  reawakening  power.  He  was  a 
physician  in  Madison  now,  and  was  in  the  coule* 
on  a  visit. 

His  knock  on  the  door  brought  a  timid-look 
ing  man  to  the  door. 

65 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

"  I  'd  like  to  come  in  awhile,"  said  the 
Doctor. 

"Certainly,  certainly,"  replied  the  teacher, 
much  embarrassed  by  the  honor. 

He  brought  him  the  chair  he  had  been  sitting 
on,  and  helped  his  visitor  remove  his  coat  and 
hat. 

"  Now  don't  mind  me,  I  want  to  see  every 
thing  go  on  just  as  if  I  were  not  here." 

"Very  well,  that's  the  way  we  do,"  the 
teacher  replied,  and  returned  to  his  desk  and 
attempted,  at  least,  to  carry  out  his  visitor's 
request. 

A  feeling  of  sadness,  mingled  with  something 
wordlessly  vast,  came  over  the  Doctor  as  he  sat 
looking  about  the  familiar  things  of  the  room. 

He  was  in  another  world,  an  old,  familiar 
world.  His  eyes  wandered  lovingly  from  point 
to  point  of  the  room,  filled  with  whispering  lips 
and  shuffling  feet  and  shock-heads  of  hair,  under 
which  shone  bright  eyes,  animal-like  in  their 
shifty  stare.  The  curtains,  of  a  characterless 
shade,  the  battered  maps,  the  scarred  and 
scratched  blackboards,  the  patched,  precarious 
plastering,  the  worn  floor  on  which  the  nails 
and  knots  stood  like  miniature  mountains,  the 
lop-sided  seats,  the  master's  hacked,  unpainted 
pine  desk,  dark  with  dirt  and  polished  with 
dirty  hands,  all  seemed  as  familiar  as  his  own 
face. 

66 


ROSE  MEETS  DR.  THATCHER 

He  sat  there  listening  to  the  recitations  in  a 
dreamy  impassivity.  He  was  deep  in  the  past, 
thinking  of  the  days  when  to  pass  from  his  seat 
to  the  other  side  of  the  room  was  an  event;  when 
a  visitor  was  a  calamity  —  for  the  teacher ;  when 
the  master  was  a  tyrant  and  his  school-room  a 
ceaselessly  rebellious  kingdom. 

As  his  eyes  fell  at  last  more  closely  upon 
the  scholars;  he  caught  the  eyes  of  a  young 
girl  looking  curiously  at  him,  and  so  deep  was 
he  in  the  past,  his  heart  gave  a  sudden  move 
ment,  just  as  it  used  to  leap  when  in  those  far- 
off  days  Stella  Baird  looked  at  him.  He  smiled 
at  himself  for  it.  It  was  really  ludicrous;  he 
thought,  "I  '11  tell  my  wife  of  it." 

The  girl  looked  away  slowly  and  without 
embarrassment.  She  was  thinking  deeply,  look 
ing  out  of  the  window.  His  first  thought  was, 
"  She  has  beautiful  eyes."  Then  he  noticed 
that  she  wore  her  hair  neatly  arranged,  and  that 
her  dress,  though  plain,  looked  tasteful  and 
womanly  about  the  neck.  The  line  of  her  head 
was  magnificent.  Her  color  was  rich  and  dark  ; 
her  mouth  looked  sad  for  one  so  young.  Her 
face  had  the  effect  of  being  veiled  by  some  warm, 
dusky  color. 

Was  she  young?     Sometimes  as  he  studied 

her    she   seemed    a   woman,    especially   as    she 

looked  away  out  of  the  window,  and  the  profile 

line  of  her  face  could  be  seen.     But  she  looked 

67 


ROSE   OF   DUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

younger  when  she  bent  her  head  upon  her  books, 
and  her  long  eye-lashes  fell  upon  her  cheek. 

His  persistent  study  brought  a  vivid  flush 
into  her  face,  but  she  did  not  nudge  her  com 
panion  and  whisper  as  another  would  have  done. 

"That  is  no  common  girl,"  the  Doctor  con 
cluded. 

He  sat  there  while  the  classes  were  called  up 
one  after  the  other.  He  heard  again  these  in 
flections,  tones,  perpetuated  for  centuries  in  the 
school-room,  "The-cat-saw-a-rat." 

Again  the  curfew  failed  to  ring,  in  the  same 
hard,  monotonous,  rapid,  breathless  sing-song, 
every  other  line  with  a  falling  inflection.  The 
same  failure  to  make  the  proper  pause  caused  it 
to  appear  that  "Bessie  saw  him  on  her  brow." 

Again  the  heavy  boy  read  the  story  of  the 
ants,  and  the  teacher  asked  insinuatingly  sweet 
questions. 

"What  did  they  do?" 

"Made  a  tunnel." 

"Yes !     Now  what  is  a  tunnel?" 

"A  hole  that  runs  under-ground." 

"Very  good!  It  says  that  the  ant  is  a 
Voracious  creature.  What  does  that  mean?" 

"Dunno." 

"You  do  n't  know  what  a  voracious  creature 
js?" 

"No,  sir." 

And  then  came  the  writing  exercise,  when 
68 


ROSE   MEETS   DR.  THATCHER 

each  grimy  fist  gripped  a  pen,  and  each  red 
tongue  rolled  around  a  mouth  in  the  vain  effort 
to  guide  the  pen.  Cramp,  cramp ;  scratch, 
scratch  ;  sputter!  What  a  task  it  was  ! 

The  December  afternoon  sun  struck  in  at  the 
windows,  and  fell  across  the  heads  of  the  busy 
scholars,  and  as  he  looked,  Dr.  Thatcher  was  a 
boy  again,  and  Rose  and  her  companions  were 
the  "big  girls"  of  the  school.  He  was  looking 
at  Stella,  the  prettiest  girl  in  the  district,  the 
sun-light  on  her  hair,  a  dream  of  nameless  pas 
sion  in  her  eyes. 

The  little  room  grew  wide  as  romance,  and 
across  the  aisle  seemed  over  vast  spaces.  Girlish 
eyes  met  his  like  torches  in  the  night.  The 
dusty  air,  the  shuffle  of  feet,  the  murmuring  of 
lips  only  added  to  the  mysterious  power  of  the 
scene. 

There  they  sat,  these  girls,  just  as  in  the  far- 
off  days,  trying  to  study,  and  succeeding  in 
dreaming  of  love  songs,  and  vague,  sweet  em 
braces  on  moonlight  nights,  beneath  limitless 
star-shot  skies,  with  sound  of  bells  in  their  ears, 
and  the  unspeakable  glory  of  youth  and  pure 
passion  in  their  souls. 

The  Doctor  sighed.  He  was  hardly  forty  yet, 
but  he  was  old  in  the  history  of  disillusion  and 
in  contempt  of  human  nature.  His  deep-set 
eyes  glowed  with  an  inward  fire  of  remem 
brance. 

69 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

"O  pathetic  little  band  of  men  and  women," 
thought  he,  "  my  heart  thrills  and  aches  for 
you." 

He  was  brought  back  to  the  present  with 
a  start  by  the  voice  of  the  teacher. 

"  Rose,  you  may  recite  now." 

The  girl  he  had  been  admiring  came  for 
ward.  As  she  did  so  he  perceived  her  to  be  not 
more  than  sixteen,  but  she  still  had  in  her  eyes 
the  look  of  a  dreaming  woman. 

"  Rose  Butcher  is  our  best  scholar,"  smiled 
the  teacher  proudly  as  Rose  took  her  seat.  She 
looked  away  out  of  the  window  abstractedly  as 
the  teacher  opened  the  huge  geography  and 
passed  it  to  the  Doctor. 

"  Ask  her  anything  you  like  from  the  first 
fifty-six  pages."  The  Doctor  smiled  and  shook 
his  head. 

"  Bound  the  Sea  of  Okhotsk,"  commanded 
the  teacher. 

Thatcher  leaned  forward  eagerly — her  voice 
would  tell  the  story! 

Without  looking  around,  with  her  hands  in 
her  lap,  an  absent  look  in  her  eyes,  the  girl 
began  in  a  husky  contralto  voice  :  "  Bounded 
on  the  north  — "  and  went  through  the  whole 
rigmarole  in  the  same  way,  careless,  but  certain. 

"  What  rivers  would  you  cross  in  going  from 
Moscow  to  Paris  ?  " 

Again  the  voice  began  and  flowed  on  in  the 
70 


ROSE   MEETS   DR.  THATCHER 

same  measured  indifferent  way  till  the  end  was 
reached. 

"  Good  heavens !"  thought  the  Doctor,  "  they 
still  teach  that  useless  stuff.  But  how  well  she 
does  it!" 

After  some  words  of  praise,  which  the  girl 
hardly  seemed  to  listen  to,  she  took  her  seat 
again. 

Rose,  on  her  part,  saw  another  man  of  grace 
and  power.  She  saw  every  detail  of  his  dress. 
His  dark,  sensitive  face,  and  splendid  slope  of 
his  shoulders,  the  exquisite  neatness  and  grace 
of  his  collar  and  tie  and  coat.  But  in  his 
eyes  was  something  that  moved  her,  drew  her. 
She  felt  something  subtile  there,  refinement  and 
sorrow,  and  emotions  she  could  only  dimly  feel. 

She  could  not  keep  hei  eyes  from  studying 
his  face.  She  compared  him  with  "  William  De 
Lisle,"  not  deliberately,  always  unconsciously. 
He  had  nothing  of  the  bold  beauty  of  her  ideal. 
This  man  was  a  scholar,  and  he  was  come  out  of 
the  world  beyond  the  Big  Ridge,  and  besides, 
there  was  mystery  and  allurement  in  his  face. 

The  teacher  called  as  if  commanding  a  regi 
ment  of  cavalry.  "Books.  Ready!"  There 
was  a  riotous  clatter,  which  ended  as  quickly  as 
it  begun. 

Kling  !  They  all  rose.  Kling  /  and  the  boy? 
moved  out  with  clumping  of  heavy  boots  and 
burst  into  the  open  air  with  wild  whoopings. 


ROSE   OF   BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

The  girls  gathered  into  little  knots  and  talked, 
glancing  furtively  at  the  stranger.  Some  of 
them  wondered  if  he  were  the  County  Superin 
tendent  of  Schools. 

Rose  sat  in  her  seat,  with  her  chin  on  her 
clasped  hands.  It  was  a  sign  of  her  complex 
organization,  that  the  effect  of  a  new  experience 
was  rooted  deep,  and  changes  took  place  noise 
lessly,  far  below  the  surface. 

"Rose,  come  here  a  moment,"  called  the 
teacher,  "  bring  your  history." 

"  Don't  keep  her  from  her  playmates," 
Thatcher  remonstrated. 

"  O  she  'd  rather  recite  any  time  than  play 
with  the  others." 

Rose  stood  near,  a  lovely  figure  of  wistful 
hesitation.  She  had  been  curiously  unembar 
rassed  before,  now  she  feared  to  do  that  which 
was  so  easy  and  so  proper.  At  last  she  saw  her 
opportunity  as  the  teacher  turned  away  to  ring 
the  bell. 

She  touched  Thatcher  on  the  arm.  "Do 
you  live  in  Madison,  sir?  " 

"Yes.     I  am  a  doctor  there." 

She  looked  embarrassed  now  and  twisted  her 
fingers. 

"  Is  it  so  very  hard  to  get  into  the  univer 
sity?  " 

"  No.  It  is  very  easy — it  would  be  for  you," 
he  said  with  a  touch  of  unconscious  gallantry 
72 


ROSE   MEETS   DR.  THATCHER 

of  which  he  was  ashamed  the  next  moment,  for 
the  girl  was  looking  away  again.  "  Do  you 
want  to  go  to  the  university?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  do." 

"Why?" 

"  O,  because — I  want  to  know  all  I  can." 

"Why?     What  do  you  want  to  do?  " 

"You  won't  tell  on  me,  will  you?"  She 
blushed  red  as  a  carnation  now.  Strange  mix 
ture  of  child  and  woman,  thought  Thatcher. 

"  Why,  certainly  not." 

They  stood  over  by  the  black-board ;  the 
other  girls  were  pointing  and  snickering,  but 
she  did  not  mind  them. 

"I  guess  I  won't  tell,"  she  stammered; 
"  you  'd  laugh  at  me  like  everybody  else — I 
know  you  would." 

He  caught  her  arm  and  turned  her  face 
toward  his;  her  eyes  were  full  of  tears. 

"Tell  me.     I '11  help  you." 

His  eyes  glowed  with  a  kindly  smile,  and  she 
warmed  under  it. 

"  I  want  to  write — stories — and  books,"  she 
half  whispered  guiltily.  The  secret  was  out 
and  she  wanted  to  run  away.  The  Doctor's 
crucial  time  had  come.  If  he  laughed! — but  he 
did  not  laugh.  He  looked  thoughtful,  almost 
sad. 

"  You  are  starting  on  a  long,  long  road, 
Rose,"  he  said  at  last.  "  Where  it  will  lead  to  I 

73 


ROSE  OF  DUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

cannot  tell — nobody  can.  What  put  that  into 
your  head?" 

Rose  handed  him  a  newspaper  clipping  con 
taining  a  brief  account  of  "  how  a  Wisconsin 
poetess  achieved  fame  and  fortune." 

"  Why,  my  dear  girl,"  he  began,  "  don  't  you 
know  that  out  of  ten  thousand  — "  He  stopped. 
She  was  looking  up  at  him  in  expectation,  her 
great  luminous  grey-brown  eyes  burning  with 
an  inward  hungry  fire  which  thrilled  him. 

"  She  may  be  the  one  in  ten  thousand,  and 
I  '11  help  her,"  he  said  to  himself. 

The  bell  ringing  brought  the  boys  clattering 
back  into  their  seats,  puffing,  gasping,  as  if  at 
last  extremity.  For  a  couple  of  minutes  noth 
ing  could  be  done,  so  great  was  the  noise. 
While  they  were  getting  settled  he  said  to  her: 
"  If  you  want  to  go  to  the  university  you 
will  have  to  go  to  a  preparatory  school.  Here 
is  my  card — write  to  me  when  you  get  done 
here,  and  I  '11  see  what  can  be  done." 

Rose  went  back  to  her  seat,  her  eyes  filled 
with  a  burning  light,  her  hands  strained  together. 
This  great  man  from  Madison  had  believed  in 
her.  O,  if  he  would  only  come  home  and  see 
her  father! 

She  painfully  penciled  a  note  and  handed  it 
to  him  as  she  came  past  to  the  blackboard.  He 
was  putting  on  his  coat  to  go,  but  he  looked 


74 


ROSE   MEETS  DR.   THATCHER 

down  at  the  crumpled  note,  with  its  Spencerian 
handwriting. 

"Please,  sir,  won't  you  come  down  and  see 
pappa  and  ask  him  if  I  can  't  go  to  Madison?" 

He  looked  at  the  girl,  whose  eyes,  big  and 
sombre  and  full  of  wistful  timidity,  were  fixed 
upon  him.  Obeying  a  sudden  impulse,  he 
stepped  to  her  side  and  said:  "Yes,  I'll  help 
you ;  do  n't  be  troubled." 

He  stayed  until  school  was  out  and  the  winter 
sun  was  setting  behind  the  hills.  Rose  sat  and 
looked  at  him  with  more  than  admiration.  She 
trusted  him.  He  had  said  he  would  help  her, 
and  his  position  was  one  of  power  in  her  fancy, 
and  something  in  his  face  and  dress  impressed 
her  more  deeply  than  any  man  she  had  ever 
seen  save  "William  De  Lisle,"  her  dim  and 
shadowy  yet  kingly  figure. 

On  his  part  he  was  surprised  at  himself.  He 
was  waiting  a  final  hour  in  this  school-room  out 
of  interest  and  curiosity  in  a  country  school 
girl.  His  was  a  childless  marriage,  and  this  girl 
stirred  the  parental  in  him.  He  wished  he  had 
such  a  child  to  educate,  to  develop. 

The  school  was  out  at  last,  and,  as  she  put  on 
her  things  and  came  timidly  towards  him,  he 
turned  from  the  teacher. 

"So  you  are  John  Butcher's  daughter?  I 
knew  your  father  when  I  was  a  lad  here.  I  am 


75 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

stopping  at  the  Wallace  farm,  but  I'll  come  over 
a  little  later  and  see  your  father." 

Rose  rushed  away  homeward,  full  of  deep 
excitement.  She  burst  into  the  barn  where  John 
was  rubbing  the  wet  fetlocks  of  the  horses  he  had 
been  driving.  Her  eyes  were  shining  and  her 
cheeks  were  a  beautiful  pink. 

"  O,  pappa,  he  said  I  ought  to  go  to  Madison 
to  school.  He  said  he  'd  help  me  go." 

John  looked  up  in  astonishment  at  her  excite 
ment. 

"Who  said  so?" 

"Dr.  Thatcher,  the  man  who  visited  our 
school  to-day.  He  said  I'd  ought  to  go,  and 
he  said  he  'd  help  me." 

Her  exultation  passed  suddenly.  Somehow 
there  was  not  so  much  to  tell  as  she  had  fancied, 
and  she  suddenly  found  herself  unable  to  explain 
the  basis  of  her  enthusiasm.  The  perceived,  but 
untranslatable  expression  of  the  Doctor's  eyes 
and  voice  was  the  real  foundation  of  her  hope, 
and  that  she  had  not  definitely  and  conscious 
ly  noted  —  to  explain  it  was  impossible.  If 
her  father  could  only  have  seen  him  ! 

"I  guess  you  'd  better  wait  awhile,"  her  father 
said,  with  a  smile,  which  Rose  resented. 

"He's  coming  to-night." 

"Who 'she?" 

"  Dr.  Thatcher.  He  used  to  live  here.  He 
knows  you." 

76 


ROSE   MEETS  DR.  THATCHER 

John  grew  a  little  more  intent  on  her  news. 

"  Does !  I  wonder  if  he  is  old  Stuart 
Thatcher's  son?  He  had  a  boy  who  went  east 
to  school  somewheres." 

Rose  went  into  the  house  and  set  to  work 
with  the  graceful  celerity  which  Mrs.  Diehl 
called  "  knack." 

"  Rose,  you  can  turn  off  work  when  you  really 
want  to,  to  beat  anything  I  ever  see." 

Rose  smiled  and  hummed  a  tune.  Mrs.  Diehl 
was  made  curious. 

"  You  're  wonderful  good-natured,  it  seems  to 
me.  What's  the  reason,  already?" 

"  We  're  going  to  have  company." 

"Who,  for  Peter's  sake?" 

"Dr.  Thatcher." 

"What's  he  come  here  for?" 

"To  see  pappa,"  said  Rose,  as  she  rushed 
upstairs  into  her  attic-room.  It  was  cold  up 
there,  warmed  only  by  the  stove-pipe  from  the 
sitting-room,  but  she  sat  down  and  fell  into  a 
dream  in  which  she  recalled  every  look  and  word 
he  had  given  her. 

She  came  suddenly  to  herself,  and  began 
putting  on  her  red  dress,  which  was  her  com 
pany  dress.  When  she  came  downstairs  in  her 
creaking  new  shoes  Mrs.  Diehl  was  properly 
indignant. 

"Well!  I  declare.  Could  n't  you  get  along 
in  your  calico?" 

77 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

"No,  I  could  n't!"  Rose  replied,  with  easy 
sharpness,  which  showed  the  frequent  passages 
at  arms  between  them. 

When  Thatcher  came  in  with  the  teacher  he 
was  quite  startled  by  the  change  in  her.  She 
looked  taller  and  older  and  more  intricate  some 
way. 

She  took  his  hat  and  coat  and  made  him  at 
home  in  much  better  form  than  he  had  reason  to 
think  she  knew.  She  on  her  part  watched  him 
closely.  His  manner  at  the  table  was  a  source 
of  enlightenment  to  her.  She  felt  him  to  be  a 
strong  man,  therefore  his  delicacy  and  considera 
tion  meant  much  to  her.  It  suggested  related 
things  dimly.  It  made  her  appreciate  vaguely 
the  charm  of  the  world  from  whence  he  came. 

Dr.  Thatcher  was  not  young,  and  his  experi 
ence  as  a  physician  had  added  to  his  natural 
insight.  He  studied  Rose  keenly  while  he  talked 
with  John  concerning  the  changes  in  the  neigh 
borhood. 

He  saw  in  the  girl  great  energy  and  resolu 
tion,  and  a  mental  organization  not  simple.  She 
had  reason  and  reserve  force  not  apprehended 
by  her  father.  The  problem  was,  should  he 
continue  to  encourage  her.  Education  of  a 
girl  like  that  might  be  glorious  —  or  tragic! 
After  supper  John  Dutcher  took  him  into  the 
corner,  and,  while  Rose  helped  clear  away  the 
dishes,  the  two  men  talked. 
78 


ROSE   MEETS   DR.  THATCHER 

"  You  see,"  John  explained,  "  she's  been 
tallcin'  about  going  on  studyin'  for  the  last  six 
months.  I  do  n't  know  what's  got  into  the  girl, 
but  she  wants  to  go  to  Madison.  I  suppose  her 
learnin'  of  that  Bluff-Sidin'  girl  goin'  has  kind 
o'  spurred  her  on.  I  want  her  to  go  to  the  high 
school  at  the  Sidin',  but  she  wants  to  go  away  " 
— he  choked  a  little  on  that  phrase  —  "but  if 
you  an'  teacher  here  think  the  girl  'd'  ought  to 
go,  why,  I  '11  send  her." 

The  younger  man  looked  grave  —  very  grave. 
He  foresaw  lonely  hours  for  John  Butcher. 

"Well — the  girl  interests  me  very  much, 
Mr.  Butcher.  It's  a  strong  point  in  her  favor 
that  she  wants  to  go.  Most  girls  of  her  age 
have  little  ambition  beyond  candy  and  new 
dresses.  I  guess  it 's  your  duty  to  send  her. 
What  she  wants  is  the  larger  life  that  will  come 
to  her  in  Madison.  The  preparatory  work  can 
be  done  here  at  the  Siding.  I  believe  it  is  one 
of  the  accredited  schools.  Of  course  she  will 
come  home  often,  and  when  she  comes  to  Madi 
son,  I  will  see  that  she  has  a  home  until  she  gets 
'  wunted,'  as  you  farmers  say." 

The  teacher  came  in  at  this  point  full  of  wild 
praise  of  Rose's  ability.  "  She's  great  on  history 
and  geography.  She  knows  about  every  city 
and  river  and  mountain  on  the  maps." 

"  She's  always  been  great  for  geography," 
confirmed  John.  "  Used  to  sit  and  follow  out 

79 


ROSE  OF  DUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

lines  on  the  maps  when  she  wasn  't  knee-high  to 
a  'tater."  A  tender  tone  came  into  his  voice, 
.almost  as  if  he  were  speaking  of  a  dead  child. 
He  too  had  a  quick  imagination,  and  he  felt  al 
ready  the  loss  of  his  girl,  his  daily  companion. 

The  matter  was  decided  there.  "  You  send 
her  to  me,  when  she  gets  ready,  and  I  '11  have 
Mrs.  Thatcher  look  after  her  for  a  week  or  so, 
.till  we  find  her  a  place  to  stay." 

Rose  was  in  a  fever  of  excitement.  She  saw 
the  men  talking  there,  and  caught  disconnected 
words  as  she  came  and  went  about  the  table. 
At  last  she  saw  Dr.  Thatcher  rise  to  go.  She 
approached  him  timorously. 

"Well,  Rose,  when  you  come  to  Madison  you 
must  come  to  our  house.  Mrs.  Thatcher  will  be 
glad  to  see  you."  She  could  not  utter  a  word 
.in  thanks.  After  he  had  gone  Rose  turned  to 
•her  father  with  a  swift  appeal. 

"  Oh,  pappa,  am  I  going  ?" 

He  smiled  a  little.  "We'll  see  when  the 
time  comes,  Rosie." 

She  knew  what  that  meant  and  she  leaped 
with  a  joy  swift  as  flame.  John  sat  silently  look 
ing  at  the  wall,  his  arm  flung  over  the  back  of 
his  chair.  Hs  wondered  why  she  should  feel  so 
happy  at  the  thought  of  leaving  home,  when  to 
Tiim  it  was  as  bitter  as  death  to  think  of  losing 
'her  for  a  single  day  out  of  his  life. 

Thenceforward  the  world  began  to  open  to 
80 


ROSE  MEETS  DR.  THATCHER 

Rose.  Every  sign  of  spring  was  doubly  signifi 
cant;  the  warm  sun,  the  passing  of  wild-fowl, 
the  first  robin,  the  green  grass,  the  fall  of  the 
frost,  all  appealed  to  her  with  a  power  which 
transcended  words.  All  she  did  was  only  prep 
aration  for  her  great  career  beyond  the  Ridge. 

She  pictured  the  world  outside  in  colors  of 
such  splendor  that  the  romance  of  her  story- 
papers  seemed  weak  and  pale. 

Out  there  in  the  world  was  William  De  Lisle. 
Out  there  were  ladies  with  white  faces  and  heavy- 
lidded,  haughty  eyes,  in  carriages  and  in  ball 
rooms.  Out  there  was  battle  for  her,  and  from 
her  quiet  coule"  battle  seemed  somehow  alluring. 


81 


CHAPTER  VIII 

LEAVING  HOME 

As  the  time  for  leaving  came  on  Rose  had 
hours  of  depression,  wherein  she  wondered  if  it 
were  worth  while.  Sometimes  it  began  when 
she  noticed  a  fugitive  look  of  sorrow  on  her 
father's  face,  and  sometimes  it  was  at  parting 
with  some  of  her  girl  friends,  and  sometimes  it 
was  at  thought  of  Carl.  She  had  spent  a  year  in 
the  Siding  in  preparation  for  the  work  in  Madi 
son,  and  the  time  of  her  adventure  with  the 
world  was  near. 

Carl  came  to  be  a  disturbing  force  during 
those  last  few  weeks.  He  had  been  a  factor  in 
all  of  the  days  of  her  life.  Almost  without 
thought  on  her  part  she  had  relied  upon  him. 
She  had  run  to  him  for  any  sort  of  material 
help,  precisely  as  to  a  brother,  and  now  he  was 
a  man  and  would  not  be  easily  set  aside. 

He  generally  drove  her  to  meeting  on  Sun 
day,  and  they  loitered  on  the  shady  stretches  of 
the  coul£  roads.  He  generally  put  his  arm 
around  her,  and  she  permitted  it  because  it  was 
the  way  all  the  young  fellows  did,  but  she  really 
82 


LEAVING   HOME 

never  considered  him  in  the  light  of  a  possible 
husband. 

Most  of  the  girls  were  precocious  in  the  direc 
tion  of  marriage,  and  brought  all  their  little 
allurements  to  bear  with  the  same  object  in  view 
•  which  directs  the  coquetry  of  a  city  belle.  At 
sixteen  they  had  beaux,  at  seventeen  many  of 
them  actually  married  and  at  eighteen  they 
might  often  be  seen  riding  to  town  with  their 
husbands,  covered  with  dust,  clasping  wailing 
babes  in  their  arms ;  at  twenty  they  were  often 
thin  and  bent  in  the  shoulders,  and  flat  and  stiff 
in  the  hips,  sallow  and  querulous  wives  of 
slovenly,  careless  husbands. 

Rose  did  not  hold  that  Carl  had  any  claim 
upon  her.  The  incidents  of  two  years  before 
were  lived  down,  both  by  herself  and  Carl,  for  as 
manhood  and  womanhood  came  to  them  they 
put  away  all  that  which  they  had  done  in  the 
thoughtlessness  of  childhood.  To  Rose  it  was 
an  unpleasant  memory,  because  associated  with 
her  father's  grief.  She  supposed  Carl  to  feel  in 
the  same  way  about  it,  and  so  no  allusion  to  it  was 
ever  made  by  any  one. 

But  Carl  was  grown  to  be  a  great  stalwart 
young  fellow,  with  the  blood  and  sinew  of  a 
man,  and  the  passions  of  a  man  were  developing 
in  his  rather  thick  head.  The  arm  which  he 
laid  along  the  buggy  seat  was  less  passive  and 
respectful  of  late.  It  clutched  in  upon  her  at 

83 


ROSE  OF  DUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

times;  though  she  shook  herself   angrily  each 
time,  he  merely  laughed. 

So  matters  stood  when  she  told  him  she  was 
going  away  to  school  in  Madison. 

"That  so?"  he  said,  and  not  much  else  till 
the  next  Sunday.     With  all  the  week  to  think  • 
about  it  in,  he  began  to  ask  himself  in  current 
slang,  "Where  do  I  come  in  ?" 

So  the  next  time  they  drove  together  he  tried 
again  to  tighten  his  arm  about  her  while  he 
said: 

"  I  '11  miss  you,  Rosie." 

"So '11  pap,"  she  said. 

There  was  a  long  pause,  then  he  said : 
"What's  the  use  o'  going  away  anyhow?  I 
thought  you  an'  me  was  goin'  to  be  married 
when  we  grew  up." 

She  shook  herself  free.  "  We  ain't  grown  up 
yet." 

"I  guess  we  won't  never  get  our  growth, 
then,"  he  said  with  a  chuckle;  "you  don't  need 
that  extra  schoolin'  any  more  'n  I  do." 

They  rode  in  silence  down  the  beautiful  val 
ley,  with  the  charm  of  early  autumn  lying 
over  it. 

"  You  must  n't  go  and  forget  me  off  there  in 
Madison,"  he  said,  giving  her  a  squeeze. 

"Carl,  you  stop  that!  You  must  n't  do  that! 
I  '11  jump  out  o*  the  buggy  if  you  do  that  again! " 

There  was  genuine  anger  in  her  voice. 

84 


LEAVING  HOME 

"Why,  it's  all  right,  Rosie;  ain't  we  en 
gaged?" 

"  No,  we  're  not,  and  we  never  will  be, 
either." 

There  was  a  note  in  her  voice  that  struck 
through  even  Carl's  thick  thought.  He  did  not 
reply,  but  continued  to  dwell  upon  that  reply 
until  its  entire  meaning  came  to  him.  Then  his 
face  became  pitiful  to  see.  It  was  usually  round 
and  red,  but  now  it  looked  long  and  heavy  and 
bitter.  He  was  so  infertile  of  phrases  he  could 
only  say: 

"Then  we  might  as  well  drive  right  back 
home." 

"Well,  you  made  me  say  it,"  she  went  on  in 
a  softer  tone,  being  much  moved  by  the  change 
in  his  face.  "I  like  you,  Carl,  but  I'm  not  a-goin' 
to  promise  anything.  I  '11  see  when  I  come 
back,  after  I  graduate." 

They  drove  on.  She  was  not  much  more  of 
a  talker  than  he,  and  so  they  rode  in  silence  that 
was  sullen  on  Carl's  part.  At  the  gate  she  re 
lented  a  little.  "Won't  you  come  in,  Carl?" 

"No,  I  guess  not,"  he  said  shortly,  and 
drove  off. 

After  she  went  in  the  house  she  felt  more  and 
more  the  injustice  of  her  anger.  "If  he  had  n't 
pinched  me  like  that,"  she  said  to  herself. 

She  went  to  work  at  her  packing  again,  put 
ting  in  things  she  would  not  possibly  have  any 

85 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

use  for.  As  she  worked  the  ache  and  weariness 
at  her  heart  increased,  and  when  they  called  her 
to  supper  the  tears  were  falling  again  like  a 
shower.  It  was  a  silent  and  miserable  meal, 
though  the  doors  and  windows  were  open  and 
the  pleasant  sounds  of  the  farm-yard  came  in, 
and  the  red  light  of  the  setting  sun  shone  in 
magically  warm  and  mellow. 

John  ate  slowly,  his  eyes  fixed  on  his  plate. 
Rose  ate  not  at  all  and  looked  out  of  the  win 
dow,  with  big  tears  rolling  childishly  down  her 
cheeks.  She  did  n't  want  to  go  at  all  now.  Her 
home  seemed  all  at  once  so  comfortable  and 
happy  and  safe! 

John  looked  up  and  saw  her  tears,  and  imme 
diately  he  was  choked  and  could  not  eat. 

"There,  there!  Rosie,  don't  cry.  We'll  be 
all  right,  and  you  '11  be  back  almost  'fore  you 
know  it.  June  comes  early  in  the  summer,  you 
know."  They  were  both  so  childlike  they  did 
not  consider  it  possible  to  come  home  before  the 
year  was  up.  She  came  around  and  knelt  down 
by  his  side  and  buried  her  face  on  his  knees. 

"I  wish  I  hadn't  promised  to  go,"  she 
wailed;  "I  do  n't  want  to  go  one  bit.  I  want  to 
stay  with  you." 

He  understood  her  feeling  and  soothed  her 
and  diverted  her,  though  tears  would  have  been 
a  relief  to  him. 

She  went  with  him  out  to  the  barn,  and  she 
86 


LEAVING  HOME 

cried  over  the  bossies  and  the  horses,  and  said 
good-by  to  them  under  her  breath,  so  that  her 
father  might  not  hear. 

When  she  went  to  bed  she  lay  down  discon 
solate  and  miserable.  O  it  was  so  hard  to  go, 
and  it  was  hard  not  to  go.  Life  was  not  so 
simple  as  it  had  seemed  before.  Why  did  this 
great  fear  rise  up  in  her  heart?  Why  should  she 
have  this  terrible  revulsion  at  the  last  moment? 
So  she  thought  and  thought.  Her  only  stay  in 
the  midst  of  chaos  was  Dr.  Thatcher.  William 
De  Lisle  was  very  far  away,  like  a  cold  white  star. 

Just  as  she  made  up  her  mind  that  she 
could  not  sleep,  she  heard  her  father  call  her. 

"  Rose,  time  to  get  up  ! " 

Her  heart  contracted  with  a  sharp  spasm 
that  almost  made  her  scream.  The  time  had 
come  for  action — momentous,  irrevocable  ac 
tion,  like  Napoleon's  embarking  from  Elba  for 
France. 

It  was  very  chill  and  dark.  She  rose  and 
groped  about  for  a  light.  Her  teeth  chattered 
with  cold  and  it  seemed  to  her  she  was  going 
to  be  sick.  She  dressed  hurriedly  and  went 
down. 

John  and  her  aunt  were  seated  at  breakfast. 
She  slipped  into  her  seat,  white  and  silent.  It 
was  still  dark  and  the  lighted  lamps  made  it 
seem  like  a  midnight  meal. 

John  was  strenuously  cheerful.     "We  have  to 

87 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

get  up  early  if  we  get  that  seven  o'clock  train," 
he  said. 

"Better  take  some  coffee  anyhow,"  urged 
Mrs.  Diehl. 

"  O,  I  can  't  eat  a  thing,"  Rose  insisted. 

"  Do  n't  worry  her,  sis,"  interposed  John. 
"  She  '11  feel  like  it  later." 

While  John  went  to  get  the  team  Rose  got 
on  her  things  and  walked  about,  uttering  a 
little  moaning  sound,  like  a  babe  in  delirium. 
It  was  terrible  to  hear  her  and  Mrs.  Diehl  lost 
patience  at  last. 

"  Stop  that  fuss  !  Good  land  !  anybody  'd 
think  you  was  goin'  to  die  dead  as  a  hammer, 
the  way  you  take  on,  and  after  all  the  time 
we  've  had  gettin'  you  ready.  I  declare  to 
goodness  I  never  see  such  a  young  'un  in  all 
my  born  days.  I  will  be  glad  to  get  rid  of 
you  1 " 

This  was  good  strong  medicine  to  Rose,  and 
she  uttered  no  more  of  her  grief.  She  punished 
her  aunt  by  refusing  to  say  good-bye  at  the 
door,  which  grieved  John  very  much. 

"You  folks  had  a  tiff  this  morning  a 'ready  ?" 

It  was  cold  and  damp.  The  wind  pushed 
against  their  faces  like  the  touch  of  wet  palms. 
The  horses  splashed  along  in  pools  of  water, 
and  out  of  the  dim  light  the  hills  rose  against 
the  sky  full  of  soft  sprawling  rain-clouds. 

They  rode  in  silence.  Rose  saw  no  more  of 
88 


LEAVING  HOME 

the  splendid  visions  of  the  world.  It  was  all 
dark  and  rainy  ahead.  Home,  and  peace,  and 
comfort  were  all  behind  her.  She  was  so  mis 
erable  it  seemed  as  if  she  must  cry  out,  but  her 
aunt's  contemptuous  words  helped  her  to  silence. 

John  talked  a  little  about  the  trains  on  the 
road,  and  the  weather,  but  talk  was  an  effort  to 
him  also.  As  he  rode  he  thought  of  it  all 
again.  He  felt  as  if  he  were  losing  his  heart, 
but  he  did  not  waver. 

He  helped  her  on  the  cars  and  then  stooped 
and  hugged  her  hard  without  kissing  her,  and 
so  stumbled  out  again,  while  she  sat  white  and 
rigid,  breathing  hard. 

The  sun  came  out  after  a  little,  and  covered 
the  earth  with  a  glory  that  found  its  way  into 
the  girl's  heart.  She  ceased  to  sob,  and  the 
ache  passed  out  of  her  throat,  although  the 
shadow  still  hung  in  her  eyes. 

The  car  interested  her.  It  seemed  a  palace 
and  of  enormous  size.  She  figured  out  the 
number  of  people  it  would  hold,  and  wondered 
how  the  seats  which  were  turned  the  other  way 
came  to  be  so.  The  car  was  mainly  occupied  by 
men  in  careless  clothing.  Everybody  seemed 
sleepy  and  unkempt.  She  wondered  where  they 
all  came  from,  and  so  speculating,  she  lost 
something  of  her  poignant  sorrow. 

Then  came  one  moment  of  quiet  elation. 
She  was  going  out  into  the  world  !  the  enormous, 

89 


ROSE  OF   BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

the  incredible  had  happened  !  She  was  going  to 
Madison,  the  state  capital.  The  speed  of  the 
train,  which  seemed  to  her  very  great,  aided  her 
to  realize  how  swiftly  she  was  getting  into  the 
world.  The  fields  and  farms  whirled  by  in 
dizzying  fashion,  and  the  whistle  of  the  engine 
was  like  the  furious,  defiant  neigh  of  a  rushing 
horse.  It  was  all  on  a  scale  more  splendid  than 
her  dreams. 

In  the  midst  of  her  exultant  moment  the 
brakeman  came  through  and  eyed  her  with  the 
glare  of  a  sex-maniac.  She  felt  as  if  a  hot  iron 
had  touched  her  flesh,  and  she  shrank  back  into 
herself,  like  a  scared  mollusk.  The  man  passed 
on,  but  her  exultation  was  gone. 

She  noticed  that  the  hills  grew  lower  as  they 
sped  southward,  and  queer  rocks  rose  squarely 
out  of  the  flat  lands,  which  were  covered  with 
wild  swamps  of  small  trees,  out  of  which  long 
skeletons  of  dead  pines  lifted  with  a  desolate 
effect. 

There  were  several  tunnels,  and  every  time 
they  went  through  one  Rose  clung  to  the  seat  in 
terror.  Some  young  men  in  the  rear  of  the  car 
smacked  their  lips  to  represent  kisses,  and 
laughed  boisterously  afterward,  as  if  that  were  a 
very  good  joke  indeed. 

The  conductor,  when  he  came  through  the 
:next  time,  eyed  her  closely  and  smiled  broadly. 
;She  did  not  understand  why  he  should  smile  at 
90 


LEAVING   HOME 

her.  After  he  had  been  through  the  car  several 
times  he  came  and  sat  down  by  her. 

"Nice  day,  ain't  it  ?     Live  in  Madison?" 

"No,  sir,"  she  replied,  looking  away.  She 
did  not  want  to  say  more,  but  some  power  made 
her  add,  "I  am  going  to  school  there." 

He  seemed  pleased. 

"Ah,  hah  !     Going  to  the  university  ?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"O,  I  see."  He  put  his  knee  against  the 
back  of  the  seat  in  front  of  her  and  took  an  easy 
position. 

"It 's  a  nice  town.  Wish  I  could  stop  off  and 
help  you  find  a  boarding-place." 

The  brakeman,  coming  through,  winked  at 
the  conductor  as  if  to  say :  "  I  like  your  '  mash,'  " 
and  the  terror  and  shame  of  her  position  flashed 
over  Rose,  flushing  her  from  head  to  foot.  Her 
eyes  filled  with  angry  tears,  and  she  looked  out 
of  the  window,  not  knowing  what  to  do.  She 
was  so  helpless  here,  for  she  was  out  in  the  world 
alone. 

The  conductor  went  on  serenely,  knowing 
well  how  scared  and  angry  she  was. 

"Yes,  sir;  it's  a  fine  little  town.  Great 
place  for  boating,  summer  or  winter.  You  '11 
see  a  hundred  ice-boats  out  on  Monona  there  all 
at  once.  I  've  got  a  cousin  there  who  has  a  boat. 
He  'd  be  glad  to  take  you  out  if  I  'd  tell  him 
about  you." 


ROSE  OF  DUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

"  I  do  n't  want  to  know  him,"  she  said,  in 
what  she  intended  to  be  a  fierce  tone,  but  which 
was  a  pitifully  scared  tone. 

The  conductor  saw  the  brakeman  looking  at 
him  and  in  order  to  convey  the  impression  that 
he  was  getting  on  nicely  he  bent  forward  and 
looked  around  into  her  face. 

"  O,  you  'd  like  him  first  rate." 

Rose  would  have  screamed,  or  burst  out  into 
some  wild  action  had  not  the  engine  whistled. 
This  gave  the  conductor  an  excuse  to  give  the 
talk  up  for  the  moment. 

"  She  's  a  daisy  and  as  green  as  grass,"  he 
said  to  the  brakeman.  Her  innocence  seemed 
to  place  her  in  his  hand. 

For  the  next  hour  they  persecuted  the  girl 
with  their  low  presences.  First  one  and  then 
the  other  came  along  the  aisle  and  sat  down  be 
side  her.  And  when  she  put  her  valise  there, 
blocking  the  seat,  the  brakeman  sat  on  the  arm 
rest  and  tormented  her  with  questions  to  which 
she  gave  no  answer. 

Just  after  Pine  City  she  heard  a  cool,  firm 
woman's  voice  ask  :  "  May  I  sit  with  you?  " 

She  looked  up  and  made  room  for  a  hand 
some,  middle-aged  woman,  in  a  neat  traveling 
dress. 

"  It 's  a  shame! "  she  said.  "  I  've  just  got  in, 
but  I  saw  at  once  how  those  men  were  torturing 


92 


LEAVING  HOME 

you.  Strange  no  one  in  the  car  could  see  it  and 
take  your  part." 

Rose  turned  to  her  gratefully,  and  laid  her 
head  on  the  lady's  stalwart  shoulder. 

"  There,  there,  no  harm  done !  You  must 
learn  to  expect  such  things  from  some  men.  It 
would  be  libelous  on  the  brutes  to  call  them 
beasts."  She  said  a  great  many  things  which 
Rose  hardly  understood,  but  her  presence  was 
strong  and  helpful.  Rose  liked  her  very  much. 

"  How  far  are  you  going  ?  " 

Rose  told  her  in  a  few  words. 

"Ah,  are  you?  You  could  not  have  made  a 
better  choice.  Who  sends  you  there — pardon 
me?" 

"Dr.  Thatcher." 

"  Dr.  Thatcher  !  Well,  well,  how  things 
come  about.  I  know  the  Doctor  very  well." 

"Do  you?  I'm  going  to  live  there  for  a 
while." 

Rose  was  smiling  now. 

"  Well,  you  couldn  't  be  more  fortunate. 
You  '11  get  into  the  most  progressive  home  in 
the  city." 

From  this  on  they  had  a  royal  good  time. 
Rose  grew  happier  than  she  had  been  for  weeks. 
There  was  something  strangely  masterful  about 
this  woman  in  spite  of  her  sweet  smile  and  soft 
gray  eyes. 


93 


ROSE   OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

When  the  conductor  came  down  the  aisle 
again  she  met  his  eye  with  a  keen,  stern  glance. 

"Young  man,  I  shall  have  you  discharged 
from  this  road." 

The  astonished  cur  took  her  card,  and  when 
he  read  the  name  of  a  famous  woman  lawyer  of 
Milwaukee  his  face  fell. 

"  I  did  n't  mean  any  harm." 

"  I  know  better.  I  shall  see  Mr.  Millet,  and 
see  that  he  makes  an  example  of  you." 

Rose  was  awed  by  her  calm  and  commanding 
voice. 

"It  has  been  our  boast  that  our  girls  could 
travel  from  east  to  west  in  our  broad  land,  and 
tie  safe  from  insult,  and  I  'm  not  going  to  let 
such  a  thing  pass." 

She  returned  to  her  grave  sweet  mood  pres 
ently,  and  began  to  talk  of  other  things. 

As  they  neared  the  town  where  they  were  to 
part  company,  the  elder  woman  said: 

"  Now,  my  dear,  I  am  to  get  off  here.  I  may 
never  see  you  again,  but  I  think  I  shall.  You 
interest  me  very  much.  I  am  likely  to  be  in 
Madison  during  the  year,  and  if  I  do  I  will  see 
you.  I  am  getting  old  though,  and  things  of 
this  life  are  uncertain  to  us  with  gray  hair.  I 
like  that  forehead  on  you,  it  tells  me  you  are  not 
to  be  a  victim  to  the  first  man  who  lays  his  hand 
on  you.  Let  me  give  one  last  word  of  advice. 
Do  n't  marry  till  you  are  thirty.  Choose  a  pro- 

94 


LEAVING   HOME 

fession  and  work  for  it.     Marry  only  when  you 
want  to  be  a  mother." 

She  rose.  "  You  do  n't  understand  what  I 
mean  now,  but  keep  my  words  in  your  mind. 
Some  day  you  will  comprehend  all  I  mean — 
good-bye."  Rose  was  tearful  as  Mrs.  Spencer 
kissed  her  and  moved  away. 

Rose  saw  her  on  the  steps  and  waved  her 
hand  back  at  her  as  the  train  drew  away.  Her 
presence  had  been  oppressive  in  spite  of  her 
kindness,  and  her  last  words  filled  the  girl's 
mind  with  vague  doubts  of  life  and  of  men. 
Everything  seemed  forcing  her  thoughts  of  mar 
riage  to  definiteness.  Her  sex  was  so  empha 
sized,  so  insisted  upon  by  this  first  day's  experi 
ence  in  the  world,  that  she  leaned  her  head 
against  the  window  and  cried  out:  "  O,  I  wish  I 
was  dead." 

But  the  train  shot  round  the  low  green  hills 
fringed  with  the  glorious  foliage  of  the  maples, 
the  lake  sparkled  in  the  afternoon's  sun,  the 
dome  of  the  capitol  building  loomed  against  the 
sky,  and  the  romance  and  terror  of  her  entry 
into  the  world  came  back  to  her,  driving  out  her 
more  morbid  emotions.  She  became  again  the 
healthy  country  girl  to  whom  Madison  was  a 
center  of  art  and  society  and  literature. 


95 


CHAPTER    IX 

ROSE  ENTERS  MADISON 

The  train  drew  up  to  a  long  platform  swarm 
ing  with  people,  moving  anxiously  about  with 
valises  in  hand,  broad-hatted  and  kindly ;  many 
of  them  were  like  the  people  of  the  coule*.  But 
the  young  hackmen  terrified  her  with  their 
hard,  bold  eyes  and  cruel,  tobacco-stained 
mouths. 

She  alighted  from  the  car,  white  and  tremu 
lous  with  fear,  and  her  eyes  moved  about  anx 
iously.  When  they  fell  upon  Thatcher  the 
blood  gushed  up  over  her  face,  and  her  eyes 
filled  with  tears  of  relief. 

"Ah,  here  you  are! "  he  said  with  a  smile,  as 
he  shook  her  hand  and  took  her  valise.  "  I  be 
gan  to  fear  you  'd  been  delayed." 

She  followed  him  to  the  carriage  with  down 
cast  eyes.  Her  regard  for  him  would  not  per 
mit  her  to  say  a  word,  even  when  they  were 
seated  together  in  the  carriage  and  driving  up 
the  street.  Her  breath  came  so  quick  and 
strange  the  Doctor  noticed  it. 

" A  little  bit  excited  about  it,  aren't  you?" 
96 


ROSE   ENTERS   MADISON 

he  smilingly  said.  "  I  remember  how  I  felt 
when  I  went  to  Chicago  the  first  time.  I  sup 
pose  this  seems  like  Chicago  to  you.  How  did 
you  leave  the  people  in  the  coule",  all  well?" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  she  replied  without  looking  up. 

"Well,  now  you  are  about  to  begin  work. 
I  've  got  everything  all  arranged.  You  are  to 
stay  with  us  for  the  present  at  least.  My  niece 
is  with  us  and  you  will  get  along  famously  I 
know.  How  do  you  like  my  horse?  "  he  asked, 
in  his  effort  to  get  her  to  speak. 

She  studied  the  horse  critically. 

"  First  rate ! "  she  said  at  last. 

He  laughed.  "  Well,  I  am  glad  you  like 
him,  for  I  know  you  are  a  judge.  He  is  a  pretty 
good  stepper,  too,  though  he  has  n't  quite 
enough  fling  in  his  knees,  you  notice.  I  '11  let 
you  drive  him  some  time." 

He  drew  up  before  a  pretty  cottage,  set  in 
the  midst  of  a  neat  lawn.  It  was  discourag- 
ingly  fine  and  handsome  to  the  girl.  She  was 
afraid  it  was  too  good  for  her  to  enter. 

A  very  blonde  young  girl  came  dancing  out 
to  the  block. 

"  O  Uncle  Joe,  did  Rose — "  Rose  suddenly 
appeared. 

"  This  is  Rose.  Rose,  this  is  our  little  chat 
ter-box." 

"Now,  Uncle  Joe!  Come  right  in,  Rose. 
I  'in  going  to  call  you  Rose,  mayn't  I  ?" 

97 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

Mrs.  Thatcher,  a  tall  thin  woman,  welcomed 
Rose  in  sober  fashion,  and  led  the  way  into  the 
little  parlor,  which  seemed  incredibly  elegant  to 
the  shy  girl. 

She  sat  silently  while  the  rest  moved  about 
her.  There  was  a  certain  dignity  in  this  reserve, 
and  both  Mrs.  Thatcher  and  Josie  were  im 
pressed  by  it.  She  was  larger  and  handsomer 
than  either  of  them  and  that  gave  her  an  ad 
vantage,  though  she  did  not  realize  that.  She 
was  comparing  in  swift,  disparaging  fashion  her 
heavy  boots  with  their  dainty  soft  shoes,  and 
wondering  what  she  could  do  to  escape  from 
them. 

"Josie,  take  her  right  up  to  her  room,"  said 
Mrs.  Thatcher,  "  and  let  her  get  ready  for  din 
ner." 

"  Yes,  come  up,  you  must  feel  like  a  good 
scrub." 

Rose  flushed  again,  wondering  if  her  face 
had  grown  grimy  enough  to  be  noticeable. 

The  young  girl  led  Rose  into  a  pretty  room 
with  light  green  walls,  and  lovely  curtains  at 
the  windows.  There  were  two  dainty  little  beds 
occupying  opposite  corners. 

"  We  're  to  occupy  this  room  together,"  said 
Josie.  "  This  is  my  dressing  case  and  that 's 
yours." 

Rose  saw  at  once  Josie  had  given  her  the 
best  one.  Josie  bustled  about  helping  her  lay 
98 


ROSE  ENTERS  MADISON 

off  her  things,  pouring  water  for  her  and  talk 
ing  on  with  gleeful  flow. 

"  I  'm  awful  glad  you  've  come.  I  know 
we  '11  be  just  as  thick  !  I  wish  you  were  in  my 
classes  though,  but  you  won't  be,  so  Doctor  says. 
Do  n't  you  think  this  is  a  nice  room  ?  " 

Rose  washed  her  hands  as  quickly  as  possible 
because  they  looked  so  big  and  dingy  beside 
the  supple  whiteness  of  Josephine's.  She  felt 
dusty  and  coarse  and  hopeless  in  the  midst  of 
this  exquisite  room,  the  most  beautiful  room 
she  had  ever  seen. 

Her  eyes  moving  about  fell  upon  a  picture 
which  had  the  gleam  of  white  limbs  in  it. 
Josephine  followed  her  look:  "O,  that's  young 
Samson  choking  the  lion.  I  just  love  that; 
is  n't  he  lovely  ?  " 

Rose  blushed  and  tried  to  answer  but  could 
not.  The  beautiful  splendid  limbs  of  the 
young  man  flamed  upon  her  with  marvelous 
appeal.  It  was  beautiful,  and  yet  her  training 
made  her  think  it  somehow  not  to  be  talked 
about. 

Josephine  led  the  way  downstairs  into  the 
little  parlor,  which  was  quite  as  uncomfortably 
beautiful  as  the  bed-room.  The  vases  and  flow 
ers,  and  simple  pictures,  and  the  piano,  all 
seemed  like  the  furnishings  of  the  homes  she 
had  read  about  in  stories. 

But  dazed  as  she  was  she  kept  her  self-corn- 

99 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

mand,  at  least  she  kept  silence  and  sat  in  som 
bre,  almost  sullen  dejection  amid  it  all.  Mrs. 
Thatcher  hardly  knew  what  to  think  of  her,  but 
the  Doctor  comprehended  her  mood  better  for 
he  had  passed  through  such  experiences  himself. 
He  talked  to  her  for  a  few  minutes  about  her 
plans,  and  then  they  went  out  to  dinner. 

Rose  entered  the  dining-room  with  a  great 
fear  in  her  heart.  She  longed  to  run  away  and 
hide. 

"  O  I  do  n't  know  anything  !  "  was  the  bitter 
cry  welling  up  in  her  throat  again  and  again, 
and  she  nearly  cried  out  upon  the  impulse. 

The  Doctor  liked  to  have  his  dinner  at  one, 
and  so  Rose  found  two  knives,  and  two  forks  at 
her  plate,  and  two  spoons  also.  She  had  read 
in  stories  of  banquets,  and  she  saw  that  this  was 
to  be  her  greatest  trial.  She  sat  very  stiff  and 
silent  as  the  soup  was  brought  on  by  the  Nor 
wegian  girl. 

She  took  the  plate  as  it  was  handed  her,  and 
handed  back  the  one  which  was  turned  down 
with  the  napkin  on  top  of  it.  The  Norwegian 
girl  smiled  broadly  and  handed  them  both  back. 
Then  Rose  saw  her  mistake  and  the  hot  blood 
swept  over  her  brown  face  in  a  purple  wave. 

The  Doctor  and  his  wife  passed  it  in  silence. 
Josie  fortunately  was  talking  to  the  cat  and  did 
not  see  it. 

Rose  could  hardly  touch  her  soup,  which  was 
100 


ROSE   ENTERS   MADISON 

delicious ;  her  whole  mind  was  filled  with  a  de 
sire  to  escape  as  soon  as  possible. 

Which  of  the  knives  should  she  use  first,  and 
what  was  the  extra  little  plate  for,  were  the  dis 
turbing  questions.  She  could  use  a  fork,  but 
she  was  afraid  of  betraying  herself  in  the  minutiae 
of  the  service.  As  a  matter  of  fact  she  got 
along  very  well,  but  of  that  she  had  no  knowl 
edge. 

Some  way  she  lived  through  the  dainty  dinner, 
scarcely  tasting  anything  of  it.  At  the  close  of 
it  Mrs.  Thatcher  said  : 

"Wouldn't  you  like  to  lie  down  for  a  little 
while?  aren't  you  tired?"  Rose  hardly  knew 
what  weariness  was,  but  she  assented  because 
she  wished  to  be  alone. 

"I'll  call  you  at  three,  may  I  ?"  asked 
Josie,  who  was  wildly  in  love  with  Rose  already. 

"O,  isn't  she  big  and  splendid,  but  she's 
queer,"  she  said  when  she  came  down. 

"  That  '11  wear  off,"  said  the  Doctor.  "  She 
feels  a  little  strange  now.  I  know  all  about  it. 
I  went  from  a  farm  to  the  city." 

Rose  hardly  dared  lie  down  on  the  spotless 
bed.  A  latent  good  taste  in  her  enabled  her  to 
see  in  every  detail  harmony  of  effect,  and 
herself  as  the  one  discordant  note  in  the  house. 
O,  how  dirty  and  rough  and  awkward  she 
was  ! 

Looking  out  of  the  window  she  saw  a  couple 
101 


ROSE   OF   BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

of  ladies  come  out  of  a  large  house  opposite  and 
walk  down  toward  a  carriage  which  waited  at  the 
gate.  The  ladies  held  their  dresses  with  a  dainty 
action  of  their  gloved  hands  as  they  stood  for  a 
moment  in  consultation.  (How  graceful  their 
hats  were  !)  Then  they  entered  the  carriage. 

As  they  gathered  their  soft  dresses  about  their 
limbs  and  stooped  to  enter  the  door,  the  flexile 
line  of  waist  and  hip  and  thigh  came  out  beauti 
fully,  modestly. 

They  were  a  revelation  of  elegance  and 
grace  to  the  farmer's  daughter.  Their  gaiters 
were  of  the  same  color  as  their  dresses.  This 
was  most  wonderful  of  all.  Such  unity  and 
completeness  of  attire  was  unknown  to  her 
before.  She  looked  down  at  her  red  dress, 
which  Mattie  Teel  had  cut  out  for  her,  and  she 
saw  it  in  all  its  deformity.  The  sleeves  did  n't 
fit  like  Josie's  did.  It  did  n't  hang  right ;  it  just 
wrinkled  all  around  her  waist,  and  hung  in 
bunches,  and  she  knew  it.  And  her  hat,  made 
over  from  her  last  winter's  hat,  was  awful. 

She  might  just  as  well  die  or  go  back  home, 
and  never  go  out  of  the  coul£  again.  She  was 
nothing  but  a  great  country  gawk,  anyway. 

In  this  bitter  fashion  she  raged  on,  lying  face 
downward  on  the  sofa.  She  lay  there  until  she 
heard  dancing  steps,  and  Josie  called  out: 
"May  I  come  in  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Rose  coldly. 

102 


ROSE   ENTERS  MADISON 

"  O,  you  've  been  having  a  good  cry,  I  know  ! 
I  just  like  to  go  off  and  have  a  good  cry  that 
way.  It  makes  your  eyes  red,  but  you  can  fix 
that.  Just  sit  still  now  and  let  me  see  what  I 
can  do." 

She  bustled  about  and  Rose  let  her  bathe  her 
face  with  cool  water  and  cologne,  and  fuss  about. 
Her  little  fingers  were  like  a  baby's  and  she 
murmured  and  gurgled  in  the  goodness  of  her 
heart  like  a  kitten.  Rose  actually  fell  asleep 
under  her  touch. 

Josie  stopped  astonished  and  startled  for  a 
moment,  and  then  tip-toed  out  of  the  room  like 
a  burglar,  and  told  Mrs.  Thatcher  all  about  it. 

"And  O,  auntie,  she 's  very  poor,  is  n't  she  ? 
Her  clothes " 

"  Tut,"  warned  Mrs.  Thatcher,  "  you  must  be 
careful  not  to  notice  that.  Edward,  is  she  so 
very  poor  ?  " 

The  Doctor,  seated  at  his  desk  in  the  little 
office,  looked  up  a  moment. 

"  No,  I  do  n't  think  so.  It  is  lack  of  judgment 
partially.  A  little  tact  and  taste  will  fix  her  all 
right.  Dutcher  is  fairly  well-to-do,  and  she  is  all 
he  has.  He  wrote  me  to  get  her  what  she 
needed,  but  I'll  leave  that  to  you  girls." 

Josie  danced  with  delight.  Buying  things 
for  yourself  was  fun,  but  buying  for  another  was 
ecstasy ! 

"The  poor  child  hasn't  a  dress  that  she  can 
103 


ROSE   OF   BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

wear  without  alteration,  and  she  is  such  a  splendid 
creature,  too.  I  can  't  conceive  how  they  failed 
to  fit  her." 

"It  seems  to  me  that  putting  her  beside  Josie 
is  pretty  hard  on  her.  I  am  afraid  you  are 
not  conversant  with  the  wardrobe  of  farmer's 
girls." 

"Well,  I  did  n't  suppose — and  the  other  room- 
is  so  small." 

"O,  well,  it  all  depends  upon  Josie.  Josie, 
come  here." 

The  girl  rose  up,  and  he  put  his  arm  around 
her. 

"  Now,  my  kitten,  you  must  be  very  careful 
not  to  allude  to  any  little  mistakes  Rose  makes." 

"  O,  Uncle  Ed— you  know—" 

"Yes,  I  know  chatterboxes  mean  all  right, 
but  they  forget.  Now,  Rose  is  going  to  be  a 
great  scholar  and  she  is  going  to  be  a  lady,  very 
quick,  too;  but  she  is  awkward,  now,  and  my 
little  girl  must  n't  make  it  hard  for  her." 

After  Josie  went  out,  Thatcher  said  : 

"I  know  just  how  the  girl  feels.  I  went 
through  it  myself.  It 's  hard,  but  it  won't  hurt 
her,  only  do  n't  try  to  talk  it  over  with  her.  If 
she 's  the  girl  I  think  she  is,  she  '11  work  the 
whole  matter  out  in  a  week  herself.  More  than 
that,  let  me  talk  to  her  myself.  If  she  's  rested, 
ask  her  to  come  down." 

Rose  came  into  the  Doctor's  office  in  a  numb 
104 


ROSE   ENTERS   MADISON 

sort  of  timidity,  for  there  was  a  great  change  in 
the  Doctor.  He  was  hardly  the  same  man  who 
had  eaten  at  their  table.  She  could  n't  describe 
it,  but  there  was  something  in  his  voice  which 
awed  her.  He  sat  now  surrounded  by  his  pro 
fessional  books  and  tools,  which  gave  him  dig 
nity  in  her  eyes. 

"Sit  down,  Rose,"  he  said,  "I  want  to  talk 
with  you.  I  've  had  a  letter  from  your  father 
about  you  and  your  expenses." 

And  then,  in  some  way,  she  never  knew 
exactly  how,  he  talked  away  her  bitterness  and 
gave  her  hope  and  comfort.  He  advised  about 
books,  and  said  :  "And  you  '11  need  some  little 
things  which  Bluff  Siding  does  n't  keep.  Mrs. 
Thatcher  will  drive  you  up  town  to-morrow  and 
you  can  get  what  you  need.  Your  father  has 
deposited  some  money  here  to  pay  your  expenses. 
I  am  going  over  to  University  Hill  to  make  a 
call;  perhaps  you'd  like  to  go." 

She  assented,  and  went  to  get  her  hat. 

It  was  the  largest  town  she  had  ever  seen,  and 
the  capitol  was  wonderful  to  her,  set  in  its  park, 
where  squirrels  ran  about  on  the  velvet  green  of 
the  grass.  The  building  towered  up  in  the  sky, 
just  as  she  had  seen  it  in  pictures.  Swarms  of 
people  came  and  went  along  the  hard,  blue-black 
paths,  and  round  it  the  teams  moved  before  the 
stores  of  the  square.  It  was  all  mightily  impres 
sive  to  her. 

105 


ROSE  OF   DUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

They  passed  the  Public  Library,  and  the 
Doctor  said : 

"  You  '11  make  great  use  of  that,  I  imagine." 

She  could  not  make  herself  believe  that.  She 
saw  students  coming  and  going  on  the  street,  and 
they  all  seemed  so  gay  and  well  dressed. 

"  All  this  will  trouble  you  for  a  little  while," 
the  Doctor  said.  "  When  I  came  to  the  Univer 
sity  the  first  time  I  seemed  like  a  cat  in  a  bath 
tub.  I  thought  everybody  was  laughing  at  me, 
but,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  nobody  paid  any  atten 
tion  to  me  at  all.  Then  I  got  mad,  and  I  said, 
'  Well,  I  '11  make  you  pay  attention  to  me  before 
I  'm  done.'  "  The  Doctor  smiled  at  her  and  she 
had  the  courage  to  smile  back.  It  was  wonder 
ful  how  well  he  understood  her. 

He  drove  her  around  the  Lake  drive.  It 
was  beautiful,  but  in  her  depression  the  more 
beautiful  anything  was  the  more  it  depressed 
her.  The  Doctor  did  not  demand  speech  of  her, 
well  knowing  she  did  not  care  to  talk. 

"  I  'mnot  mistaken  in  the  girl,"  he  said  to  his 
wife  when  they  were  alone.  "  She  has  immense 
reserve  force — I  feel  it.  Wait  until  she  straight 
ens  up  and  broadens  out  a  little,  you  '11  see  ! 
There 's  some  half-savage  power  in  her,  mag 
netism,  impelling  quality.  I  predict  a  great 
future  for  her  if  —  " 

"  If  what  ?  " 

"  If  she  do  n't  marry.  She  is  passionate,  will- 
106 


ROSE   ENTERS   MADISON 

ful  as  a  colt.  It  seems  impossible  she  has  come 
thus  far  without  entanglement.  She  's  going  to 
be  very  handsome  when  she  gets  a  little  more  at 
ease.  I  thought  her  a  wonderful  creature  as  she 
sat  in  that  schoolroom,  with  the  yellow  sun 
striking  across  her  head.  She  appeared  to  me 
to  have  destiny  in  her  favor." 

"  She  's  fine,  but  I  think  you  're  over-enthu 
siastic,  Edward." 

"  Wait  and  see.  She  is  n  't  a  chatter-box  like 
Josie,  that  is  evident." 

"  In  fact,  my  dear,"  he  went  on  to  say  after  a 
silence,  "  I  should  like  to  adopt  her — I  mean,  of 
course,  take  a  particular  interest  in  her.  She 
has  appealed  to  me  very  strongly  from  the  first. 
You  can  be  a  mother  to  Josie  and  I  '11  be  a 
father  to  Rose." 

There  was  something  sombre  under  his  smil 
ing  utterance  of  these  words.  Their  eyes  did 
not  meet,  and  there  was  a  silence.  At  last  the 
Doctor  said  : 

"  The  girl 's  physical  perfection  is  wonderful. 
Most  farmers'  girls  are  round  in  the  shoulders, 
and  flat  in  the  hips,  but  Rose  has  grown  up  like 
a  young  colt.  Add  culture  and  ease  to  her  and 
she  '11  mow  a  wide  swath,  largely  without  know 
ing  it,  for  the  girl  is  incapable  of  vanity." 

The  wife  listened  with  a  brooding  face. 
Rose 's  splendid  prophecy  of  maternity  op 
pressed  her  some  way. 

107 


ROSE   OF   BUTCHER'S   COOLLY 

When  the  girls  went  up  to  bed,  terror  and 
homesickness  and  depression  all  came  back  upon 
Rose  again.  She  sat  down  desolately  upon  the 
little  cream-and-gold  chair  and  watched  Josie  as 
she  pattered  about  taking  down  her  hair  and  ar 
ranging  it  for  the  night.  She  could  not  help 
seeing  the  multitude  of  bottles  and  little  combs 
and  powder  puffs  and  boxes  and  brushes  which 
Josie  gloated  over,  seeing  that  Rose  was  inter 
ested. 

They  were  presents,  she  said,  and  named  the 
givers  of  each.  It  was  a  revelation  to  Rose  of  the 
elegancies  of  a  dainty,  finicky  girl's  toilet.  She 
thought  of  the  ragged  wash-brush  and  wooden- 
backed  hair-brush  and  horn  comb  which  made 
up  her  own  toilet  set,  and  grew  hot  and  cold. 

Josephine  was  delighted  to  have  some  one  sit 
and  stare  in  that  admiring  way  at  her,  therefore 
she  displayed  all  her  paces.  She  brushed  her 
hair  out  with  her  ivory-backed  brush,  and  laid 
out  all  her  beautiful  underwear,  trimmed  with 
lace  and  embroidered  in  silk.  She  did  it  with 
out  malice,  but  Rose  thought  of  her  worn  cotton 
things,  shapeless  and  ugly.  She  never  could 
undress  before  Josephine  in  the  world! 

She  delayed  and  delayed  until  Josie  had  cud 
dled  down  into  her  bed  with  her  little  pink  nose 
sticking  out,  and  her  merry  eyes  blinking  like 
the  gaze  of  a  kitten.  Rose  waited,  hoping  those 
bright  eyes  would  close,  but  they  would  not. 
108 


ROSE   ENTERS  MADISON 

At   last   a   desperate   idea   came  to    her.      She 
sprang  up  and  went  to  the  gaslight. 

"  How  do  you  put  this  out?"  she  asked. 

Josie  gurgled  with  laughter.  "  Just  turn  that 
thingamabob  underneath.  Yes,  that — turn  it 
quick — that's  right.  O,  ain't  it  dark!  But  you 
ain't  undressed  yet,  and  the  matches  are  out  in 
the  bathroom." 

Rose  was  more  at  her  ease  in  the  dark. 

"  Never  mind,  I  can  undress  in  the  dark. 
I'  m  used  to  it."  She  loosened  the  collar  of  her 
dress,  slipped  off  her  shoes,  and  lay  down  on  the 
bed  bitter  and  rebellious. 

When  Josie  awoke  in  the  morning  the  coun 
try  girl  was  awake  and  fully  dressed  and  reading 
a  book  by  the  window. 

The  wrinkly  red  dress  could  not  utterly 
break  up  the  fine  lines  of  her  firm  bust  and 
powerful  side  and  thigh,  and  the  admiring  little 
creature  hopped  out  of  bed  and  stole  across  the 
room,  and  threw  her  arms  about  Rose. 

"  How  big  and  beautiful  you  are!  " 

These  wonderful  words  ran  into  the  country 
girl's  blood  like  hot  scented  wine.  To  be 
beautiful  made  some  amends  for  being  coarse 
and  uncultured.  As  she  had  never  felt  abase 
ment  before,  so  she  had  never  felt  the  need  of 
being  beautiful  until  now. 

She  turned  a  radiant,  tearful  face  to  Josie, 
and  seized  her  hands. 

109 


ROSE   OF   BUTCHER'S   COOLLY 

"  I— I  like  you— O,  so  much!  " 

"  I  knew  we  'd  be  friends,"  cried  the  little  one 
dancing  about.  "  And  you  '11  let  me  go  and 
help  you  buy  your  things,  won^'t  you?  " 

"  O,  I  '11  be  glad  to  have  you — I  'm  such  a 
fool.  I  don't  know  anything  at  all  that  I  ought 
to  know." 

"  You  're  just  splendid.  I  'm  the  one  who 
don't  know  anything." 

Then  they  entered  upon  a  day  of  shopping. 
They  toiled  like  ants  and  buzzed  like  bees. 

Rose  came  home  at  night  worn  out,  dis 
couraged  and  dumb  as  an  Indian.  She  had  sub 
mitted  to  her  fate,  but  she  was  mentally  sore,  lame 
and  confused.  She  no  longer  cared  whether 
Josie  saw  her  poverty  or  not,  and  she  went  to 
sleep  out  of  utter  fatigue,  her  eyes  wet  with  tears 
of  homesickness.  All  she  hoped  for  seemed 
impossible  and  of  no  account,  and  sleep  in  her 
own  attic  bed  appeared  to  be  the  sweetest  thing 
in  the  world. 

Her  good,  vigorous  blood  built  up  her  cour 
age  during  the  night,  but  she  was  hardly  a  sweet 
and  lovable  companion  in  the  days  which  fol 
lowed.  She  (temporarily)  hated  Josie  and  feared 
Mrs.  Thatcher.  Thatcher  himself,  however,  was 
her  savior,  for  she  would  surely  have  gone  home 
had  it  not  been  for  him. 

She  had  a  notable  set-to  with  the  dressmaker. 
"  I  won't  come  here  again,"  she  said,  sullenly. 


ROSE   ENTERS  MADISON 

"  I  don't  want  any  dresses,  I  'm  going  home. 
I  'm  tired  of  being  pulled  and  hauled." 

The  dressmaker  was  a  brisk  little  Alsatian, 
with  something  of  the  French  adroitness  in  her 
manner. 

"  O,  my  dear  young  friend !  If  you  only 
knew !  I  am  in  despair !  You  have  such  a 
beautiful  figure.  You  would  give  me  such 
pleasure  if  I  might  but  finish  this  lovely  gown." 

Rose  looked  at  her  from  under  a  scowling 
prominent  forehead.  She  had  never  been  called 
beautiful  before,  at  least  not  by  one  who  was  dis 
interested  or  a  stranger,  and  she  did  not  believe 
the  woman. 

The  dressmaker  passed  her  hands  caressingly 
over  the  girl's  splendid  bust  and  side. 

"Ah  !  I  can  make  myself  famous  if  I  may  but 
fit  those  lines." 

Rose  softened  and  put  on  the  gown  once 
more  and  silently  permitted  herself  to  be  turned 
and  turned  about  like  a  tin  sign,  while  the  little 
artist  (which  she  was)  went  about  with  a  mouth 
full  of  pins,  gurgling,  murmuring  and  patting. 
This  was  the  worst  of  the  worry,  and  the  end  of 
all  the  shopping  was  in  sight. 

The  touch  of  soft  flannels  upon  her  flesh,  the 
flow  of  ample  and  graceful  gowns  helped  her  at 
once.  Her  shoulders  lifted  and  her  bust  ex 
panded  under  properly  cut  and  fitted  garments. 
Quickly,  unconsciously  she  became 'herself  again, 
in 


ROSE   OF   BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

moving  with  large,  unfettered  movements.  She 
dominated  her  clothing,  and  yet  her  clothing 
helped  her.  Being  fit  to  be  seen,  she  was  not 
so  much  troubled  by  the  faces  of  people  who 
studied  her. 

It  was  wonderful  to  see  how  she  took  on  (in 
the  first  few  weeks)  the  graces  and  refinements 
of  her  new  life.  She  met  her  schoolmates  each 
day  with  added  ease,  and  came  at  last  to  be  a 
leader  among  them,  just  as  in  the  home  coule. 
Her  strength  and  grace  and  mastery  they  felt  at 
once. 

Her  heart  beat  very  hard  and  fast  on  the  first 
day  as  she  joined  the  stream  of  students  moving 
toward  the  Central  Hall.  The  maple  trees  were 
still  in  full  leaf  and  blazing  color.  The  sun 
light  was  a  magical  cataract  of  etherealized  gold, 
and  the  clouds  were  too  beautiful  to  look  at 
without  a  choking  in  the  throat. 

As  she  stepped  over  the  deeply-worn  stone 
sill,  she  thought  of  the  thousands  of  other  coun 
try  girls  whose  feet  had  helped  to  wear  that 
hollow,  and  her  heart  ached  with  unaccountable 
emotion. 

Above  her  noisy  feet  clattered  and  bounded 
on  the  winding  stairway,  and  careless  voices  re 
sounded.     She  climbed  in  silence.    In  such  wise  \ 
she  began  to  climb  the  way  of  knowledge,  the 
way  which  has  no  returning  foot-steps,  and  which 
becomes  ever  more  lonely  as  the  climber  rises. 
112 


CHAPTER  X 

QUIET   YEARS    OF   GROWTH 

Outwardly  her  days  were  uneventful.  She 
came  and  went  quietly,  and  answered  her 
teachers  with  certainty  and  precision.  She  was 
not  communicative  to  her  companions,  and  came 
to  know  but  few  of  them  during  the  first  term. 
She  watched  the  trees  go  sere  and  bare,  and  cal 
culated  on  the  progress  of  the  farmwork.  She 
wondered  if  the  men  were  in  the  corn  yet,  or 
whether  it  were  too  cold  a  morning  to  plow. 
She  studied  the  sky  to  see  if  there  were  signs  of 
snow.  She  could  not  at  once  throw  off  her  daily 
supervision  of  the  weather  and  of  farmwork. 

Her  father  wrote  only  at  long  intervals.  His 
chapped  and  stiffened  hands  managed  the  pen 
stock  but  painfully.  He  wrote  of  the  farm 
affairs,  the  yield  of  corn,  the  weight  of  the  steers 
or  hogs  he  had  sold,  and  asked  her  how  many 
turkeys  he  had  best  keep  over. 

Carl  wrote  once  or  twice  and  stopped.     He. 
was  a  still  more  reluctant  correspondent.     Carl 
meant  little  to  her  now.    The  Doctor's  dominion 
was  absolute,  and  yet  there  was  a  subtle  change. 

"3 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

She  no  longer  blushed  in  his  presence,  and  he 
seemed  older  and  nearer  to  her,  more  like  an 
uncle  and  adviser.  The  figure  he  had  been,  took 
its  place  beside  that  of  William  De  Lisle.  More 
substantial,  but  less  sweet  and  mythical. 

Her  school  life  was  not  her  entire  intellectual 
life  by  any  means.  She  had  the  power  of  absorb 
ing  and  making  use  of  every  sight  and  sound 
about  her.  She  saw  a  graceful  action  at  table  or 
in  the  drawing  room,  and  her  mind  seized  upon 
it  and  incorporated  it.  She  did  not  imitate;  she 
took  something  from  every  one,  but  from  no  one 
too  much. 

Her  eyes  lost  their  round  nervous  stare,  but 
they  searched,  searched  constantly,  as  was  natural 
for  a  girl  of  her  years  and  fine  animal  nature, 
but  there  was  brain  back  of  it  all.  The  young 
men  knew  nothing  of  her  searching  eyes;  indeed, 
they  thought  her  cold,  and  a  little  contemptuous 
of  them. 

Meanwhile  their  elegance  often  alienated 
them  from  her.  There  were  many  types  not  far 
removed  from  Carl  and  Henry ;  farmer's  boys 
with  some  touch  of  refinement  and  grace,  but 
others  had  a  subtle  quality,  which  told  of  homes 
of  refinement  and  luxury. 

Two  wonderful  things  had  come  to  her.    One 

was  the  knowledge  that  she  was  beautiful,  which 

she  came  to  understand  was  the  burning  desire 

of  all  women  ;  and  again  that  she  was  master  of 

114 


QUIET  YEARS  OF  GROWTH 

things  which  had  scared  her.  She  could  wear 
lovely  dresses  unconsciously,  and  sit  at  table 
with  ease,  and  walk  before  her  classmates  with 
out  tremor.  She  felt  power  in  her  heart,  as  well 
as  in  her  fist. 

Her  winter  was  a  quiet  one.  She  came  and 
went  between  her  classes  and  her  home  at 
Dr.  Thatcher's.  She  studied  in  her  own  room  or 
recited  to  the  Doctor  when  he  was  at  leisure. 
He  liked  to  have  the  girls  come  into  his  study 
when  he  was  not  too  busy,  and  there  he  sat 
figuring  on  the  probable  effect  of  cocaine  or 
atropine  in  a  certain  case,  while  the  girls  read 
or  talked. 

Those  were  wonderful  hours  to  the  country 
girl.  She  was  a  long  way  from  the  little  cottage 
on  the  old  coule"  farm  at  such  times.  Dr. 
Thatcher  felt  the  same  beauty  and  power  in  the 
droop  of  the  head  which  had  attracted  him  first 
in  the  old  school-house,  only  enriched  and  in 
nobler  colorings  here. 

They  went  sleighing  together,  with  shouting 
and  laughter,  as  if  the  Doctor  were  a  girl,  too. 
They  went  skating,  and  once  in  awhile  to  some 
entertainment  at  the  church.  They  were  not 
theatre-going  people,  and  the  lectures  and  socials 
of  the  town  and  college  made  up  their  outings. 
It  was  the  Doctor's  merry  interest  in  their  do 
ings  which  made  young  men  so  unnecessary  to 
Rose  as  well  as  to  Josephine. 


ROSE  OF  DUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

Then  came  spring  again ;  the  southwest  wind 
awoke,  snow  began  to  go,  the  grass  showed  here 
and  there,  and  Rose's  thoughts  turned  back 
toward  the  coule".  There  were  days  when  every 
drop  of  her  blood  called  out  for  the  hills  and  the 
country  roads,  the  bleat  of  lambs,  the  odor  of 
fields,  and  the  hum  of  bees,  but  she  kept  on  at 
work. 

Something  elemental  stirred  in  her  blood  as 
the  leaves  came  out.  The  young  men  took  on 
added  grace  and  power  in  her  eyes.  When  they 
came  before  her  in  their  athletic  suits,  lithe,  clean 
limbed,  joyous,  then  her  eyes  dreamed  and  her 
heart  beat  till  the  blood  choked  her  breathing. 

O,  the  beautiful  sky;  O,  the  shine  and  shade 
of  leaves!  O,  the  splendor  of  young  manhood  ! 
She  fought  down  the  dizziness  which  came  to 
her.  She  smiled  mechanically  as  they  stood 
before  her  with  frank,  clean  eyes  and  laughing 
lips,  and  so,  slowly,  brain  reasserted  itself  over 
flesh,  and  she,  too,  grew  frank  and  gay. 

Then  came  the  vacation.  The  partings,  the 
bitter  pain  of  leaving  the  young  people  she  had 
learned  to  love,  and,  too,  came  the  thought  of 
home.  The  dear  old  coul£  with  its  peaks  and 
camel  humps,  and  pappa  John  !  He  was  waiting 
to  see  her  there  ! 

So  the  pain  of  leaving  her  mates  was  mingled 
with  the  joy  of  home-coming.     She  romped  on 
the  grass  with  the  young  lambs.     She  followed 
116 


QUIET  YEARS  OF  GROWTH 

Pappa  John  about  as  of  old,  in  the  fields,  while 
he  wondered  and  marveled  at  her.  She  was  so 
fine  and  white  and  lady-like. 

She  was  fain  to  know  all  the  news  of  the  farm, 
and  the  neighborhood.  She  felt  like  kissing  all 
the  dear  old  ladies  in  the  coule".  O,  the  old 
friends  were  the  best  after  all!  You  could  rest 
on  them.  They  did  n't  care  how  you  ate  soup. 
They  did  n't  keep  you  keyed  up  to  company 
manners  all  the  time. 

She  went  back  to  her  old  dresses  and  cotton 
underwear,  and  went  dirty  as  she  liked,  and  got 
brown  and  iron-muscled  again. 

Carl  met  her  on  the  road  one  day  and  bowed 
and  drove  on,  with  hurried  action  of  the  lines. 
He  still  bore  her  rejection  of  him  fresh  in  mind. 
It  is  everlastingly  to  his  credit,  let  it  be  said  now, 
that  he  never  made  use  of  his  youthful  intimacy 
with  her.  He  was  a  man,  with  all  the  honesty 
and  sincerity  and  chivalry  of  a  race  of  gentlemen 
in  his  head,  slow-witted  as  he  was. 


117 


CHAPTER   XI 

STUDY  OF  THE  STARS 

She  came  back  each  September  with  delight 
and  exultation.  It  was  not  so  much  like  going 
to  the  world  's  end  now,  and  besides,  her  father 
seemed  resigned  to  it.  Back  to  the  gleam  of 
the  lakes,  the  flaming  sunsets,  the  moon-lit 
nights  filled  with  twang  of  guitars  and  floating 
harmony  of  fresh  boyish  voices,  back  to  her  girl- 
lovers  and  her  books,  back  to  the  chalky  odor  of 
the  recitation  room. 

It  was  so  sweet  to  climb  the  circular  stair 
way  again.  The  booming  roar  of  the  feet  did 
not  disturb  her  now.  The  greetings  of  the 
Professors  as  they  passed,  made  her  eyes  dim 
with  pleasure.  The  spirit  of  the  University  had 
established  dominion  over  her. 

These  were  days  without  care,  days  of  silent 
pleasant  growth.  A  year  of  sweet  gravity  over 
books  and  wholesome  laughter  over  games.  She 
studied  hard,  but  it  was  a  quiet  pleasure  to 
study,  for  she  had  the  power  of  concentration 
which  gives  mastery. 

She  was  never  behind,  never  fagged  out  with 
118 


STUDY  OF  THE  STARS 

study.  She  had  time  for  the  splendor  of  nature 
and  for  the  world  of  books.  She  read  more 
and  more  each  year  because  she  felt  lacking  in 
literary  knowledge.  She  read  the  books  she  ought 
to  know — read  them  religiously.  Occasionally 
it  chanced  the  books  were  those  she  loved  to 
read,  but  not  often.  Generally  she  had  to  bend 
to  them  as  if  they  were  lessons. 

She  read  also  Scott,  Dickens  and  Thackeray, 
a  volume  or  two  each.  Then  one  day  in  mid 
winter  it  chanced  she  fell  upon  "  Mosses  from  an 
Old  Manse,"  and  then  all  the  other  books 
waited.  She  read  it  while  she  walked  home 
from  the  library.  She  read  it  after  dinner  and 
put  it  in  her  satchel  as  she  went  to  recite.  She 
finished  it  and  secured  the  second  volume  ;  then 
came  "Twice  Told  Tales,"  then  "The  Scarlet 
Letter,"  and  the  world  of  woman  's  sin  opened 
to  her. 

She  read  that  terrible  book,  rebelling  against 
the  dark  picture,  raging  against  the  insatiable 
vengeance  of  the  populace  who  condemned 
Hester  as  if  she  had  opened  the  gates  of  hell  in 
the  path  of  every  daughter  of  New  England. 

She  could  not  understand,  then  nor  there 
after,  the  ferocity  of  hate  which  went  out  against 
the  poor  defenseless  woman.  What  had  the 
woman  done?  She  struggled  over  the  problem. 
She  felt  in  herself  that  terrible  ceaseless  urging. 
Her  thoughts  were  not  clear,  they  were  still  only 
119 


ROSE  OF  DUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

raised  figures  in  the  web  of  organic  thought, 
but  she  was  accomplishing  great  conceptions. 

She  knew  it  was  wrong,  but  why  it  was  wrong 
troubled  her.  The  law  —  yes,  but  what  lay  be 
hind  the  law  ?  The  Mormon  had  one  law,  the 
Turks  another.  Why  was  this  English  law 
better  than  any  other?  Why  were  the  animals 
freer  than  men?  Their  lives  were  good  and 
healthy,  they  lived  in  the  sunshine  and  were 
untroubled.  Such  were  a  few  of  the  questions 
she  grappled  with. 

God  only  knows  the  temptations  which  came 
to  her.  She  had  days  when  all  the  (so-called) 
unclean  things  she  had  ever  seen,  all  the  over 
heard  words  of  men  's  coarse  jests,  came  back 
like  vultures  to  trouble  her.  Sometimes  when 
she  walked  forth  of  a  morning,  the  sun  flamed 
across  the  grass  with  ineffable  beauty.  The 
whole  earth  was  radiant ;  every  sound  was  a 
song ;  every  lithe  youth  moved  like  a  god  before 
her,  and  it  was  then  that  something  deep  in  her, 
something  drawn  from  generations  of  virtuous 
wives  and  mothers,  saved  her  from  the  whirlpool 
of  passion. 

At  such  times  she  felt  dimly  the  enormous  dif 
ference  between  her  nature  and  that  of  Joseph 
ine.  Josephine's  passion  was  that  of  a  child — 
hers  that  of  an  imaginative  and  complex  man. 

She  was  silent  after  these  days  of  gayety. 
She  was  not  a  chatterer  at  any  time,  but  after 
120 


STUDY  OF  THE  STARS 

these  moods  she  was  almost  sullen  once  more, 
and  she  fell  upon  her  lessons  with  renewed  zeal, 
as  a  monk  flagellates  his  rebellious  flesh. 

After  these  days  of  searching  eyes  she  re 
fused  to  look  at  any  of  her  young  male  friends. 
She  answered  them  crustily  and  turned  away 
from  them,  but  this  did  not  serve  to  cure  her  nor 
to  keep  the  young  men  away. 

Always  at  such  times  William  De  Lisle's 
glorious  presence  drew  near  in  the  dusk,  insub 
stantial  and  luminous  as  a  cloud,  and  she  set  her 
teeth  in  fresh  resolve  to  be  wise  and  famous;  to 
be  worthy  his  look  and  his  word  of  praise. 

She  had  suitors  constantly.  Her  dark  haughty 
face,  warm  with  blood,  her  erect  and  powerful 
figure  excited  admiration  among  the  young 
men,  and  they  courted  her  with  the  wholesome 
frankness  of  clean  and  vigorous  manhood.  The 
free  and  natural  intercourse  of  the  college  kept 
the  young  people  healthy  as  a  home  circle. 

As  the  Doctor  came  to  take  a  different  place 
in  her  love,  Rose  became  open  to  the  advances 
of  other  men.  Twice  during  the  winter  she  felt 
the  power  of  love  touch  her.  In  the  first  in 
stance  her  eyes  sought  and  found  among  her 
classmates  a  young  man's  physical  beauty,  and 
her  imagination  clothed  him  with  power  and 
mystery,  and  she  looked  for  him  each  day,  and 
life  was  less  interesting  and  purposeful  when  he 
was  not  present. 

121 


ROSE   OF   DUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

She  made  no  open  advances,  she  scarcely 
needed  to,  for  he  also  saw,  and  when  he  came  to 
her  and  she  flushed  and  trembled  with  weakness, 
it  seemed  as  if  her  life  had  at  last  taken  a  fixed 
direction.  For  a  few  weeks  the  man  was  her 
ideal.  She  saw  him  before  her  constantly.  She 
knew  his  smile,  the  lift  of  his  eyebrows,  the 
shape  of  his  ears,  the  slope  of  his  shoulders,  the 
sound  of  his  voice.  She  looked  at  him  stealthily 
from  her  book.  She  contrived  to  sit  where  she 
could  watch  every  motion.  She  walked  down 
the  street  with  him  each  day,  half  numb  with 
her  emotion. 

But  this  ecstasy  did  not  last.  She  felt  even 
tually  his  shallowness  and  narrowness.  He  was 
vain  and  ungenerous.  He  grew  sere  and  bare 
of  grace  and  charm  like  the  autumn  elms,  and 
at  last  he  stood  empty  and  characterless  before 
her,  and  her  eyes  looked  over  and  beyond  him, 
into  the  blue  sky  again,  and  throughout  it  all 
she  kept  her  place  in  her  classes  and  no  one  was 
aware  of  her  new  ideal. 

When  she  turned  away  from  him  he  did  not 
grow  pale  and  lean.  He  grew  a  little  vicious 
.and  said :  "  She  is  too  cold  and  proud  for  my 
taste." 

Her  next  suitor  was  a  worthy  young  man  who 
was  studying  law  in  the  town.  A  fine,  clean 
young  fellow,  who  paid  court  to  her  with 
jnasterly  address.  He  was  older  than  she,  and 

122 


STUDY  OF  THE  STARS 

was  a  better  scholar  and  brought  to  her  less  of 
the  clotheshorse  and  more  of  the  man  than  her 
freshly  outgrown  lover.  Before  spring  began 
he  had  won  great  intimacy  with  her — almost  an 
engagement. 

He  was  adroit.  He  did  not  see  her  too 
much,  and  he  came  always  at  his  best.  He 
appealed  to  the  most  imaginative  side  of  her 
nature.  She  glorified  his  calling  as  well  as  his 
person.  He  was  less  handsome  than  his  prede 
cessor,  but  he  brought  an  ample  and  flowing 
phraseology,  and  a  critical  knowledge  of  farm- 
life  as  well  as  of  town-life.  Once  he  took  her 
to  the  court-room  to  hear  him  plead. 

He  took  her  to  the  socials,  and  once  to  the 
theater.  There  was  his  mistake!  The  play 
made  a  most  powerful  impression  upon  her, 
more  powerful  than  anything  since  the  circus  at 
Tyre. 

It  raised  new  and  wordless  ambitions.  For 
the  first  time  in  her  life  she  saw  society  dress  on 
the  stage.  The  play  was  one  which  pretended, 
at  least,  to  show  New  York  and  London  life. 
Therefore  men  in  claw-hammer  coats  came  and 
went,  with  strange  accents  and  with  cabalistic 
motions  of  hats  and  gloves,  and  women  moved 
about  with  mystic  swagger. 

The  heroine  glowed  like  a  precious  stone  in 
each  act,  now  sapphire,  now  pearl,  now  ruby. 
She  spoke  in  a  thick,  throaty  murmur  and  her 
123 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

white  shoulders  shone  like  silver,  and  her  wide 
childish  eyes  were  like  wells  of  light-diffusing 
liquid. 

Rose  gazed  at  her  with  unwearying  eyes.  Her 
bosom  rose  and  fell  as  if  she  had  been  running, 
and  she  said  in  her  heart:  "/  can  do  that  !  I 
could  stand  there  and  do  that ! " 

Then  the  theme  of  the  play  filled  her  with 
strange  new  thoughts.  These  people  lived  out 
before  her  a  condition  which  she  had  read  about 
but  which  had  never  been  discussed  in  her  pres 
ence.  A  husband  discovers  his  wife  to  have 
been  a  lover  and  mother  in  her  girlhood,  and  in 
a  tempest  of  self-righteous  passion  flings  her  to 
the  ground  in  scorn  and  horror. 

She  clings  to  his  feet  (in  approved  stage 
fashion),  pleading  for  mercy :  "  I  was  so 
young! " 

He  would  not  listen.  "Go! — or  no,  stay — 
I  will  go.  I  make  the  home  over  to  you,  but 
never  look  upon  my  face  again." 

While  Rose  burned  with  shame  and  indigna 
tion,  the  outraged  woman  on  the  stage  grew 
white  and  stern. 

"Who  are  you  to  condemn  me  so?"  she 
asked  in  icy  calm.  "  Are  you  the  saint  you  pro 
fess  to  be?  Will  one  offence  contain  your  crime 
against  me?  " 

"What  do  you  mean?"  thundered  the  man 
and  husband. 

124 


STUDY  OF  THE  STARS 

"  You  know  what  I  mean.  In  my  weakness 
I  was  stained,  ineffaceably ;  I  admit  it — but  you, 
in  your  strength,  have  you  not  preyed  upon 
weak  women?  The  law  allows  you  to  escape 
disgrace — nature  and  law  force  me  to  suffer  with 
mine." 

Rose  thought  of  Carl  and  his  courtship  with 
such  a  shudder  as  one  feels  in  remembering  a 
rescue  from  an  abyss.  A  hundred  great  confus 
ing  questions  floated  by  in  her  mind,  like  clouds 
in  a  mist  of  rain — formless,  vast,  trailing  deeper 
shadow  beneath  them.  The  self-sufficient  young 
lawyer  beside  her  said  as  the  curtain  fell: 

"  There  was  nothing  else  for  her  husband  to 
do  but  just  fire  her  out." 

Rose  heard  him  but  did  not  reply.  She  felt 
a  sharp  revulsion  of  feeling  toward  him  for  his 
coarse,  hard  tone.  When  he  laid  his  hand  on 
her  she  shook  it  off,  and  when  he  asked  a 
question  of  her  she  did  not  reply.  He  was 
annoyed  also,  and  so  they  waited  for  the  curtain 
to  rise  on  the  final  act. 

The  wife  was  sick  and  dying.  The  dramatist 
had  not  the  courage  to  work  out  his  theme.  He 
killed  the  wife,  so  that  the  husband  should  not 
appear  to  condone  and  take  her  to  wife  again. 
She  died  while  he,  magnanimously,  forgave  her. 

As  they  walked  home,  with  fatuous  insistence 
her  lover  talked  with  Rose  about  the  case.     He 

125 


ROSE  OF  DUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

took  the  man's  side.  He  hinted  at  the  reason 
—  presuming  upon  their  intimacy.  Men  out 
grow  such  experiences,  he  said ;  women  do  not. 
They  are  either  one  thing  or  the  other — either 
pure  as  angels  or  black  as  devils. 

Rose  closed  her  lips  tight,  and  her  eyes 
flamed  with  indignant  protest,  but  she  said 
nothing  in  reply.  In  her  heart  she  knew  it  was 
a  lie.  A  woman  can  set  her  foot  above  her  dead 
self  as  well  as  a  man. 

When  he  tried  to  kiss  her  good-bye  she 
pushed  him  aside  and  left  him  without  a  word. 
He,  too,  was  a  bare  and  broken  ideal.  Her 
heart  went  back  again  to  William  De  Lisle,  as 
the  young  eagle  goes  back  to  the  sun-warmed 
cliff  to  rest  and  dream,  with  eyes  to  the  sun. 

That  night  put  her  girlhood  far  from  her. 
She  grew  five  years  older  in  the  weeks  which  fol 
lowed.  Her  mind  took  up  irresistibly  one 
insoluble  problem  after  another  and  wrestled 
with  it  in  silence.  Josie's  chatter  went  on  around 
her  like  the  sound  of  the  swallows  in  the  eaves 
of  the  old  barn  at  home. 

Her  mind  was  like  a  piece  of  inconceivably 
intricate  machinery,  full  of  latent  and  compli 
cated  motion.  A  word,  a  touch,  and  it  set  to 
work,  and  out  of  its  working  some  fine  inner 
heat  and  glow  changed  the  whole  mental  and 
physical  equilibrium  of  her  nature,  and  she 
became  something  else,  finer,  more  mysterious, 
126 


STUDY  OF  THE  STARS 

and  more  alluring — though  this  she  did  not 
realize. 

Thereafter  the  young  man  of  her  acquaint 
ance  did  not  draw  her.  Her  eyes  had  been 
raised  to  higher  altitudes.  She  fell  upon  her 
books  with  terrible  industry,  in  the  hope  that 
they  would  throw  some  light  on  her  problems 
and  ambitions. 

There  was  nothing  she  did  not  think  of  dur 
ing  these  character-forming  days.  The  beauty 
and  peace  of  love,  the  physical  joy  of  it ;  the 
problem  of  marriage,  the  terror  of  birth — all  the 
things  girls  are  supposed  not  to  think  of,  and 
which  such  girls  as  Rose  must  irresistibly  think 
of,  came  to  her,  tormenting  her,  shaking  her  to 
the  inmost  center  of  her  nature,  and  through  it 
all  she  seemed  quite  the  hearty  young  school 
girl  she  was,  for  this  thought  was  wholesome  and 
natural,  not  morbid  in  any  degree. 

She  was  a  child  in  the  presence  of  the  Doctor, 
but  a  woman  with  her  suitors.  The  Doctor 
helped  her  very  much,  but  in  the  most  trying 
moments  of  her  life  (and  no  man  can  realize 
these  moments)  some  hidden  force  rose  up  to 
dominate  the  merely  animal  forces  within.  Some 
organic  magnificent  inheritance  of  moral  purity. 

She  was  saved  by  forces  within,  not  by  laws 

without.     Opportunities  to  sin  always  offer  in 

every  life.     Virtue  is  not  negative,  it  is  positive  j 

it   is  a  decoration  won  by  fighting,  resisting. 

127 


ROSE   OF   BUTCHER'S   COOLLY 

This  sweet  and  terrible  attraction  of  men  and 
women  towards  each  other  is  as  natural  and  as 
moral  as  the  law  of  gravity,  and  as  inexorable. 
Its  perversion  produces  trouble.  Love  must  be 
good  and  fine  and  according  to  nature,  else 
why  did  it  give  such  joy  and  beauty  ? 

Natural  as  was  this  thought,  she  hid  it  from 
her  associates.  Most  women  die  with  it  unac 
knowledged,  even  to  their  own  spoken  thought. 
She  would  have  been  helped  by  talk  with  the 
Doctor,  or  at  least  with  his  wife.  But  there  was 
a  growing  barrier  between  Mrs.  Thatcher  and  her 
self,  and  the  Doctor  did  not  seem  the  same  good 
friend.  She  felt  a  change  coming  in  the  whole 
household. 

When  she  went  home  at  the  close  of  her  sec 
ond  year,  she  had  a  feeling  that  she  would  never 
again  return  to  the  old  sweet  companionship 
with  Dr.  Thatcher.  He  was  too  busy  now,  ap 
parently,  to  give  her  the  time  he  once  seemed 
so  glad  to  give.  He  never  asked  her  to  ride 
with  him  now.  She  was  troubled  by  it  and  con 
cluded  they  were  tired  of  her,  and  so  she,  too, 

grew  cold  and  reserved. 

******* 

The  day  she  left,  the  Doctor,  after  he  had 
driven  Rose  to  the  train,  called  his  wife  into  the 
office. 

"Sit  down  a  moment,  wife,  I  want  to  talk 
with  you."  He  faced  her  bravely.  "  I  guess 
128 


STUDY  OF  THE   STARS 

we'd  better  arrange  for  Rose  to  go  to  one  of 
the  chapter-houses  next  year.  There  's  no 
need  to  beat  around  the  bush — she  takes  up  too 
much  of  my  thought,  and  you  know  it  and  I 
know  it." 

It  drew  blood  to  say  that.  It  took  manhood 
to  look  his  wife  in  the  eyes  then,  but  he  did  it. 

"It  isn't  her  fault,  and  it  isn't  yours — it 
is  n't  mine,  as  a  matter  of  justice.  Rose  is  just 
what  she 's  always  been,  a  good,  sweet  girl — I 
would  n't  have  her  see  anything  but  friendly 
interest  in  my  eyes  for  half  my  heart — I'm  afraid 
she  will,  so — I  guess " 

He  was  talking  through  set  teeth.  "  I  wish 
you'd  tell  her  we  can 't  offer  her  a  home ;  I  can't 
do  it." 

He  rose  and  went  to  his  wife.  "My  dear, 
do  n't  cry — you  've  watched  this  thing  come  on 
in  brave  silence — not  every  wife  would  have  kept 
silence  so  long.  It  won't  break  up  our  comrade 
ship,  will  it,  dear?  We've  jogged  along  so 
peacefully  these  fifteen  years — we  ought  to 
overlook  a  little  thing  like  this  ! "  He  smiled  a 
little,  then  he  stooped  and  put  his  arm  about  her. 

"Come,  give  me  a  kiss,  and  let's  adopt  no 
more  handsome  girls  till  I'm  sixty-five." 

She  rose  and  lifted  her  sad  face  to  his.  "  It 's 
my  fault,  if  I — " 

He  kissed  her  and  said:  "No  more  of  that! 
You  're  my  faithful  wife.     What  helps  the  matter 
129 


ROSE  OF  DUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

materially  is  this — Rose  thinks  of  me  as  a  sober 
old  settler  now." 

This  ended  it  so  far  as  any  outward  showing 
ever  defined  his  feeling,  but  the  presence  of  the 
girl  never  left  him.  At  night,  as  he  sat  at  his 
desk  at  the  hour  which  almost  always  used  to 
bring  Rose  down  from  her  room  to  discuss  her 
lessons  with  him,  he  grew  sad  and  lonely.  "  If 
I  had  a  child,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  I  could  bear 
it  more  easily." 

When  Rose  returned,  she  went  into  one  of 
the  co-operative  boarding-houses,  and  slowly 
drifted  away  from  the  Doctor  and  his  family. 
She  never  quite  knew  why.  It  puzzled  her  for 
a  time,  and  then  she  forgot  it — in  the  fashion  of 
youth. 


130 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  GATES  OPEN  WIDE 

Of  what  avail  the  attempt  to  chronicle  those 
days?  They  were  all  happy,  and  all  busy,  yet 
never  alike.  When  the  sun  shone  it  was  beauti 
ful,  and  when  the  wind  roared  in  the  trees  and 
the  rain  slashed  like  falling  sails,  it  was  equally 
glorious.  On  clear,  crisp,  bright  winter  days  the 
air  grew  magical  with  bells,  and  the  grating 
snarl  of  the  ice-boat 's  rudder  was  thrilling  as  a 
lion  's  cry.  It  was  apart  from  the  world  of  care 
and  politics  and  revolution. 

There  was  fun,  whirlwinds  of  it,  at  the  chap 
ter-house  when  studies  were  over,  and  there 
was  fun  at  the  professedly-formal  girl-banquets 
where  the  chairman  arose  to  say,  "Gentlemen, 
the  honor — "  and  everybody  shrieked  to  see 
her  pull  an  imaginary  chin-whisker.  There  was 
more  fun  on  winter  nights,  when  loads  of  people 
packed  into  the  bob-tail  mule-cars  (which  tinkled 
up  the  snowy  street  with  wonderful  persistency), 
while  the  passengers  trod  on  each  other's  toes 
and  chaffed  the  driver.  And  the  wonderful 
nights  under  the  stars,  walking  home  with  arm 


ROSE   OF   DUTCHER'S   COOLLY 

fast  anchored  in  a  fellow's  grip  ;  or  strolls  in 
summer  beside  the  Lake,  or  dreamy  hours  float 
ing  at  sunset  in  a  boat  which  lay  like  a  lily  's 
petal,  where  skies  of  orange  and  purple  met 
water  of  russet-gold  and  steely-blue. 

And  there  was  the  glory  of  mounting  also. 
One  by  one  the  formidable  mesas  of  calcula 
tions,  conjugations,  argumentations,  fell  below 
her  feet,  and  Rose  grew  tall  in  intellectual  grace. 
She  had  no  mental  timidities.  Truth  with  her 
came  first,  or  if  not  first,  certainly  she  had  little 
superstitious  sentiment  to  stand  in  the  way.  She 
was  still  the  same  impatient  soul  as  when  she 
shook  her  little  fist  at  the  Almighty's  lightning. 

It  was  this  calm,  subconscious  assumption  of 
truth 's  ultimate  harmony  with  nature 's  first 
cause  which  she  delighted  in  as  she  entered 
physics  and  astronomy.  Her  enthusiasm  for  the 
hopeless  study  of  the  stars  developed  into  a 
passion.  They  exalted  her  and  saddened  her. 

She  lifted  her  eyes  to  them,  and  the  ultimate 
distances  of  their  orbits  swept  upon  her  with 
overwhelming  power. 

She  felt  again  the  ache  in  the  heart  which 
came  to  her  as  a  child  on  the  bluff-top,  when  the 
world  seemed  spread  out  before  her.  When  she 
-turned  her  face  upward  now  it  was  to  think  of 
•the  awful  void  spaces  there,  of  the  mysteries  of 
•each  flaming  planet,  and  of  the  helplessness  and 
weakness  of  the  strongest  man. 
132 


THE  GATES  OPEN  WIDE 

For  a  year  she  plunged  into  astronomy.  It 
had  the  allurement  and  the  sombre  aloofness  of 
unrequited  love.  It  harmonized  well  with  her 
restless,  limitless  inner  desire. 

These  sudden  passions  for  this  or  that  art 
were  signs  of  her  strength  and  not  her  weakness. 
They  sprang  out  of  her  swift  and  ready  imagina 
tion,  which  enabled  her  to  take  on  the  person 
ality  of  the  artist,  and  to  feel  his  joy  of  power. 
It  was  quite  normal  that  she  should  desire  to  be 
successively  circus  rider,  poet  and  astronomer, 
and  yet,  now  that  her  graduation  was  near,  she 
was  as  far  from  a  real  decision  as  ever. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  after  gradua 
tion?"  Josie  said. 

Rose  grew  grave.  "  I  don  't  know.  Go  on 
studying  somewhere." 

"  I  'm  going  to  have  a  good  time  !  " 

"  You  're  always  having  a  good  time,  you 
little  oriole."  Rose  had  come  to  patronize 
Josie  in  these  later  days.  "  I  envy  you  so,"  she 
sighed.  "  The  world  is  so  simple  for  you." 

"  I  do  n't  understand  you  when  you  go  on 
like  that — you'll  come  tomorrow  and  see  my 
new  dress,  won't  you  ?" 

Graduation  meant  for  Josephine  the  chance 
to  wear  a  fetching  gown,  and  be  looked  at  by  an 
immense  crowd  —  and  one  extra  man.  This  was 
supposed  to  be  a  secret,  but  everybody  who  cared 
to  give  it  a  thought,  knew  of  it  and  smiled  at  her 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

as  they  would  at  a  child.  Josie  could  be  nothing 
else  but  a  child. 

To  most  of  the  students  graduation  day  came 
rushing  with  sorrowful  speed.  It  meant  passing 
from  sunlit  lanes  of  maple  and  lilac  out  into  the 
bleak  highways  of  trade  and  labor.  It  meant 
the  beginning  of  struggle  with  pitilessness  in 
man  and  nature.  As  students  they  were  not  in 
the  race  for  subsistence,  but  as  citizens  and  pro 
fessional  men  they  were  to  be  competitors  in 
trades  and  crafts  already  overflowing. 

Graduation  day  drew  near,  and  a  tremulous 
ecstasy  came  into  the  lives  of  the  outgoing 
students — a  joy  made  more  precious  by  its  cer 
tainty  of  passing. 

To  Rose  graduation  day  came  as  the  sweetest, 
saddest  day  of  her  life.  It  seemed  to  close  a 
gate  upon  something  in  her  history.  The  smil 
ing,  yet  mournful,  faces  of  her  friends,  the  wist 
ful  eyes  of  the  young  men  who  loved  her,  the 
rustle  of  leaves,  the  gleam  of  the  water,  the 
dapple  of  light  and  shade  on  the  campus,  the 
exaltation  of  the  public  moment,  all  these 
wondrous  things  rushed  upon  her  like  a  flood, 
and  overwhelmed  her  ambitions  and  desires, 
powerful  as  they  were. 

At  last  the  books  were  closed  and  packed 
away. 

The  commencement  exercises  began  with  the 
reception  in  Science  Hall.  The  night  fell  slowly, 

134 


THE  GATES  OPEN  WIDE 

and  the  fine  new  building  grew  alight  story  after 
story,  and  crowds  began  to  stream  in.  The 
students  led  the  way,  rakish,  full  of  airs,  except 
when  piloting  their  parents  about.  The  fun  had 
been  almost  furious  all  day. 

There  were  many  of  the  relatives  of  the  stu 
dents  present,  and  often  they  stood  out  in  sharp 
contrast  with  the  decorations  and  with  the  joy  of 
the  young  people.  Beautiful  girls  might  be  seen 
leading  bent  and  wrinkled  fathers  and  mothers, 
who  had  sacrificed  all  for  them. ,  Rose  wished 
for  her  father,  and  passionately  desired  to  do 
something  for  him.  He  had  written  that  he 
could  n't  leave  the  farm,  and  so  she  wandered 
about  with  others,  like  herself,  free.  Every 
where  the  young  men  met  her.  She  never 
escaped  them  for  a  moment,  their  pursuit  was 
relentless. 

The  crowd  swarmed  into  each  room,  where 
the  professors  stood  beside  show-cases,  polite  and 
patient,  exhibiting  machines,  specimens,  draw 
ings.  At  another  place  sherbet  was  served  to 
the  guests,  and  music  could  be  heard  in  the 
lower  halls.  Everywhere  was  the  lisp  of  feet, 
the  ripple  of  talk. 

All  this  was  a  bore  to  many  of  the  pupils,  for 
there  was  the  peace-pipe  ceremonial  preparing 
on  the  campus,  that  they  really  waited  for. 
Mysteriously  in  the  deep  dusk  a  huge  heap  of 
combustibles  had  been  piled  up  on  the  wet 

135 


ROSE  OF   BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

grass,  and  one  by  one  the  two  classes  began  to 
gather.  There  was  a  mutter  of  voices,  a  com 
mand,  then  a  red  flame  flashed  out,  and  with  it 
the  college  yell  soared  up  from  a  little  bunch  of 
dark  forms  : 

"  RAH-RAH-RAH-WISCONSIN!" 

The  stragglers  on  the  walks  turned  toward  the 
fire,  like  insects.  They  came  in  crawling  dark 
lines  like  ants,  across  the  wet  grass.  They 
formed  a  blue-black  mass,  lighted  on  one  side 
by  the  orange  light  of  the  bonfire.  The  stars 
overhead  grew  green  and  dim  in  the  light  of  the 
fire,  and  the  encircling  trees  of  the  campus  came 
out  like  silhouettes  of  purple-green  cardboard. 

The  class  rolled  out  its  carpet  for  the  girls 
and  opened  its  boxes  of  long  clay  pipes.  It 
seemed  so  much  more  important  to  Rose  now 
that  she  stood  there  in  the  center  as  one  of  the 
graduating  class.  There  was  not  much  talk. 
They  lined  up  and  sang  song  after  song.  Then 
the  boys  moved  about  and  showed  the  girls  how 
to  light  their  pipes. 

"You  want  to  suck,  not  blow,  on  it!"  a  voice 
called  out,  and  everybody  laughed  dutifully. 
For  a  few  moments  all  was  laughter.  The  girls 
tried  to  assume  the  airs  of  smokers,  and  puffed 
their  kinnikinnick  furiously.  Then  as  they  sang 
they  swung  their  pipes  with  rakish  air, — "  There 
is  a  Tavern  in  our  Town"  and  "  The  Bull-frog 
in  the  Pool,"  and  their  voices  floated  out  and  up 

136 


THE   GATES  OPEN   WIDE 

into  the  wreathing  smoke  of  the  fire,  as  deli- 
ciously  sweet  as  though  their  songs  were  hymns 
of  praise  as  they  were  hymns  of  youth. 

The  pipes  needed  constant  relighting.  In 
every  silence  some  girl  cried  out:  "O,  my 
pipe's  gone  out ! "  One  cried:  "  Give  me  a  bite  ! " 
as  if  the  pipe-stem  were  taffy. 

To  Rose  the  whole  ceremony  was  glorious. 
It  carried  her  out  of  herself.  It  gave  her  a 
glimpse  into  the  world  which  men  keep  to  them 
selves,  and,  besides,  she  had  written  the  speech 
handing  the  pipe  down  to  the  custodian  of  the 
succeeding  class,  a  really  admirable  ceremony. 

Here  on  this  spot  the  red  men  warred  and 
loved.  Here,  with  the  sheen  of  lakes  about,  and 
the  wild  grass  under  their  feet,  it  was  beautiful 
and  appropriate  that  they  should  be  remembered 
by  these  young  western  sons  and  daughters  of 
the  white  man. 

The  mock  antagonism  between  seniors  and 
juniors  seemed  to  have  great  meaning  when 
Tom  Harris  spoke  the  lofty  phrases  she  had 
written  for  him,  standing  outlined  against  the 
soaring  fire  like  a  silhouette  of  velvet,  his  voice 
rolling  out  with  lofty  suspensive  power. 

"  Here  on  the  spot  where  our  fathers  have 
dwelt  for  countless  suns  and  moons  we  ask  for 
peace.  We  call  upon  you  to  bury  the  hatchet. 
Forgive  and  forget;  you  who  have  scars  forgive, 
and  you  who  have  wrongs  forget.  Let  all  evil 

137 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

spirits  be  exorcised  by  the  pipe.  Here  we 
break  the  arrow.  Here  we  tender  the  sacred 
pipe.  Brothers — sisters,  we  have  spoken!" 

The  fire  burned  low.  As  they  sat  in  circles  on 
the  ground  and  chanted  their  songs,  the  sky 
grew  blacker,  the  trees  melted  into  the  darkness, 
the  last  wailing  cadence  floated  into  silence,  and 
then  subdued,  tender,  they  rose  and  vanished,  in 
pairs  and  groups,  into  the  darkness  like  the  songs 
they  sang.  The  class  of  189-  had  entered  upon 
its  long,  long  trail,  some  to  the  plains  of  failure, 
some  to  the  mountains  of  victory. 

This  quaint  and  suggestive  custom  received 
new  strength  from  the  oration  which  Rose  con 
tributed.  All  felt  its  power  and  beauty.  To  the 
girls  the  whole  ceremony  was  a  rare  and  deli 
cious  piece  of  audacity.  It  did  them  good.  It 
gave  them  something  to  look  back  upon  with 
laughter,  into  which  a  sigh  and  a  little  catching 
of  the  breath  might  also  come. 

Something  elemental  and  primitive  came  to 
Rose  amid  all  the  laughter  and  song.  What  was 
she  more  than  the  swart  women  who  had  lived 
here  and  been  wooed  of  men  ?  Was  there  not 
something  magnificent  in  their  frank  following 
of  the  trail  of  pure  passion  ?  They  loved,  and 
bore  children,  and  ground  at  the  corn  mills,  and 
died  as  the  female  bison  died,  and  other  women 
came  after  them  to  do  like  unto  them,  to  what 
end? 

138 


THE  GATES  OPEN   WIDE 

Some  such  questions,  vague,  ever  shadowy, 
formless,  moved  Rose,  as  she  lay  down  to  sleep 
that  night.  Outside  a  mandolin  twanged — the 
boys  were  serenading  her,  but  she  had  not  the 
wish  to  see  them.  She  did  not  go  to  the  window, 
as  the  other  girls  did,  deliciously  excited,  almost 
hysteric  with  the  daring  of  being  possibly  seen 
in  their  nightgowns.  She  kept  sombre  silence, 
stirred  by  profounder  emotions  than  they  were 
capable  of. 

She  thought  of  William  De  Lisle  but  seldom 
now.  In  open  daylight  she  was  a  little  ashamed 
of  her  idolatry,  but  on  nights  like  these,  when 
love  songs  and  moonlight  fused  together,  his 
figure  came  before  her,  not  so  clear  a  personality 
now,  but  as  a  type  of  beauty,  as  a  center  of 
dreams,  of  something  wild  and  free  and  splendid 
— something  she  was  to  attain  to  some  good 
day. 

She  had  no  thought  of  attaining  him,  but 
some  one  like  unto  him.  Some  one  who  was 
grand  as  her  dream  of  heroes  and  loyal  as  her 
father. 

It  was  characteristic  of  her  that  while  the 
lovers  singing  without  made  her  companions 
utter  hysterical  laughter,  she  was  sad  and  wished 
to  be  alone.  Their  desires  were  on  the  surface, 
shifting,  sparkling,  seeking  kisses.  Hers  was 
dark,  and  deep  down,  sombre,  savage,  prophetic. 
Love  with  her  was  a  thing  not  to  be  uttered. 

139 


ROSE  OF  DUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

She  silenced  all  jests  about  it,  and  all  familiarity 
on  the  part  of  her  suitors  she  had  put  away. 

During  her  first  year  she  had  allowed  her 
lover  to  take  her  hand,  as  Carl  used  to  do, 
because  it  seemed  the  usual  thing,  but  after 
breaking  off  that  entanglement  she  resolutely 
set  to  work  to  study,  and  no  man  had  since  con 
sidered  himself  her  lover.  To  permit  a  caress 
now  meant  all  the  world  to  her.  It  meant 
change,  undoing  of  plans,  throwing  away  ambi 
tions.  It  meant  flinging  herself  to  the  immemo 
rial  sacrifice  men  demand  of  women. 

There  were  times  when  she  felt  the  impulse 
to  do  this.  She  felt  it  that  night  as  the  clear 
voices  of  the  serenaders  came  floating  in  at  her 
window.  What  did  it  matter  ?  What  could  she 
do  in  the  mighty  world  ?  What  did  the  Indian 
girl,  when  her  lover  sang  from  his  canoe  among 
the  water  lilies  in  the  lake  ?  Why  not  go  to  one 
of  these  good,  clean  young  men  and  be  a  wife  ? 
What  did  it  matter — her  ambition — her  hope  ? 
"I  will,"  she  said,  and  a  wild  rush  of  blood 
choked  her  breathing,  "I'll  end  it  all." 

But  the  singing  died  away,  the  moonlight 
vanished  out  of  the  room,  and  the  passionate 
longing  and  tumult  of  her  blood  grew  slowly 
quiet,  and  she  slept. 

When  the  sun  rose  there  was  no  man  in  her 
world  who  could  have  won  her  consent  to  mar 
riage.  Her  ambitions  rose  like  the  sun,  buoyant 
140 


THE   GATES  OPEN  WIDE 

as  young  eagles,  while  the  singers  of  the  night 
before  were  hapless  fireflies,  tangled  in  the 
dewy  grass,  their  love -light  dim,  their  singing 
lost. 

She  was  not  done  with  this  problem,  however. 
She  saw  in  one  man's  eyes  something  to  be 
answered.  She  had  her  answer  ready,  though  she 
hoped  to  escape  the  ordeal.  He  hovered  close 
about  her  all  the  morning.  He  came  by  the 
chapter-house  for  her,  but  she  had  gone  to  the 
chapel. 

She  felt  a  little  guilty  toward  him.  She  had 
attended  concerts  with  him.  She  had  accepted 
his  company  now  and  again  because  she  liked 
him  and  because — well,  it  was  convenient,  and 
by  selecting  him  she  escaped  the  attentions  of 
others.  She  had  seemed  to  acquiesce  in  his  pro 
prietorship  of  her,  and  yet  always  when  alone  she 
had  tried  to  show  him  that  they  could  only  be 
friends.  This  he  had  persistently  misunder 
stood. 

She  was  almost  the  tallest  of  her  classmates, 
she  led  the  march  into  the  chapel  for  the 
final  ceremonies,  a  splendid  and  terrible  mo 
ment,  toward  which  they  had  looked  for  weeks, 
and  for  which  they  had  elaborately  planned 
dresses  and  procedure. 

It  was  all  so  wistfully  beautiful.  The  cool 
spacious  hall  filled  with  hushed  people;  the 
141 


ROSE   OF   DUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

vivid  green  trees  looking  in  at  the  windows  and 
the  soft  air  burdened  with  bee  songs  and  the 
smell  of  flowers.  The  June  sunlight  dappled 
the  lawn  with  marvels  of  shade  and  shine.  The 
music  seemed  to  wail  as  they  marched,  and  the 
rustling  stir  and  murmur  of  comment  helped  to 
unnerve  them  all  even  to  men. 

The  speaker  looked  down  upon  them  with 
comprehension.  He  was  an  eastern  man  and 
an  old  man,  also  he  was  a  poet.  He  was  just, 
and  he  had  seen  how  clean  and  fine  this  co-edu 
cational  school  was.  The  day  was  beautiful  to 
him  as  to  them,  and  he  comprehended  their  feel 
ings  well.  He  looked  down  into  their  pensive 
faces,  he  saw  the  sorrowful  arching  of  their 
brows,  the  sad  droop  of  their  lips. 

His  shaggy  head  drooped  forward  as  he 
talked  to  them,  till  his  kind  old  face,  lined  with 
genial  wrinkles,  seemed  to  grow  beautiful  and 
tender  and  maternal.  He  had  reared  many 
children  of  his  own,  and  he  now  took  the  young 
people  into  his  heart.  He  told  them  much  of 
his  life  and  trials — how  work  was  in  the  world 
for  them ;  play,  too — but  work,  hard  work, 
glorious  work  !  work  for  humanity  as  well  as  for 
themselves.  He  conveyed  to  them  something 
of  the  spirit  of  altruism  into  which  the  world 
seemed  about  to  enter  on  its  orbit  as  it  swings 
through  clouds  of  star-dust. 

They  cheered  him  when  he  ended,  and  then 
143 


THE  GATES  OPEN  WIDE 

the  president,  in  brief  words,  presented  their 
diplomas.  Among  them  now  were  bitten  lips, 
and  tremulous  chins  and  tearful  eyes.  The 
doors  had  closed  behind  them  and  they  faced 
the  whole  world,  it  seemed.  For  years  they  had 
studied  here,  in  storm  and  sun,  but  now  they  re 
membered  only  the  sunlight,  all  fused  and 
blended  into  one  radiant  vista. 

As  they  stood  for  their  final  benediction  a 
splendid  snowy  cloud  sailed  across  the  sun,  and 
the  room  darkened  mystically.  A  shudder  of 
exquisite  pleasure  and  pain  thrilled  Rose,  and  a 
little  moan  pushed  from  her  throat,  but  the 
shadow  lifted,  the  organ  sounded  out  a  fine 
brave  strain,  and  the  class  of  189-  was  ended. 
It  was  now  a  group  of  men  and  women  facing 
the  open  road. 

With  low  words  of  greeting  and  congratula 
tion  the  graduates  and  their  friends  lingered 
about  the  chapel.  Slowly  it  emptied  and  the 
hill  grew  populous  again  with  groups  of  leisurely 
moving  figures. 

There  were  scholars  showing  their  parents 
about  the  grounds,  there  were  groups  of  visiting 
towns-people,  and  there  were  the  lovers,  two 
and  two,  loitering,  wandering  (she  in  dainty 
white  gown,  he  in  cap  and  jacket),  two-and-two 
in  world-old,  sex-old  fashion.  They  lay  on  the 
banks  and  watched  the  boats  on  the  gleaming 
lake  where  other  lovers  were.  They  threaded 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

the  hill-paths  where  the  thrush  moved  with 
quick  rustle,  and  the  pale  wood-flowers  peered 
above  the  fragrant  mosses.  They  stood  on  the 
beach  skipping  pebbles,  he  lithe  and  laughing, 
she  tender,  palpitating,  wistful  and  sombre,  or 
fitfully  gay.  Everywhere  laughter  had  a  solemn 
sweet  undertone; "Good-bye!"  trembled  so  close 
to  "I  love  you!" 

Rose  saw  young  Harris  approaching,  and  a 
faintness  took  hold  upon  her  limbs.  He  was  at 
his  princeliest  estate — never  would  he  be  hand 
somer.  His  summer  suit  set  close  to  his  agile 
and  sinewy  figure.  His  cap  rested  lightly  on  his 
curly  hair.  His  frank  blue  eyes  were  laughing, 
but  his  lips  were  tremulous  with  feeling. 

"  Well,  Rose,  all  the  girls  have  deserted  me 
so  I  'm  glad  to  find  you  alone,"  he  said,  but  she 
knew  he  was  never  deserted.  "  Let's  take  a 
walk.  The  whole  school  seems  to  be  divided 
off  into  teams.  Looks  as  if  the  whole  crowd 
would  trot  in  double  harness,  don't  it?" 

She  did  not  reply,  he  hardly  expected  her  to 
do  so. 

"  Going  to  the  ball  with  me  to-night,  are  n't 
you?" 

"  No,  I  guess  not." 

"  I  was  in  hopes  you  'd  change  your  mind." 

"  I  can't  dance  those  new-fangled  figures." 

"O, you'd  catch  on  in  a  jiffy.  You  should 
have  gone  out  more." 

144 


THE  GATES  OPEN  WIDE 

They  moved  down  the  hill  to  the  beach  road, 
and  as  they  walked  Harris  talked,  talked  against 
time,  he  would  have  said.  They  strolled  on  past 
the  small  boys  fishing,  past  other  low-voiced 
couples,  out  into  comparative  solitude  where 
the  farms  began.  She  knew  what  was  coming 
but  she  could  not  stop,  could  not  then  turn 
back. 

They  came  at  last  to  a  grassy  little  knoll 
which  looked  out  upon  the  lake,  and  there  he 
laughingly  spread  out  his  handkerchief  for  her. 

"  Sit  here,  my  liege  lady!  " 

It  was  red  clover,  and  its  powerful  fragrance 
swept  upon  her  with  a  vision  of  the  hay-field  at 
home. 

Harris  lay  down  below  her  so  that  he  could 
see  her  face,  and  the  look  in  his  eyes  made  her 
shiver  again.  Nothing  so  beautiful  and  power 
ful  and  pagan-free  had  come  to  her  since  that 
day  when  she  danced  with  Carl  beneath  the  dap 
pling  leaves,  when  woman's  passion  first  stirred 
within  her.  The  sailing  clouds,  the  clicking  in 
sects,  the  smell  of  leaves  and  flowers  all  strove 
on  the  side  of  the  lover.  It  was  immemorial, 
this  scene,  this  impulse. 

"  Well,  Rose,  this  is  our  last  day  at  school, 
and  what  I  want  to  know  is  this,  is  it  the  last  we 
shall  see  of  each  other?" 

She  made  an  effort  and  answered: 

"Why,  no,  I  hope  not." 

MS 


ROSE   OF   BUTCHER'S   COOLLY 

"You  hope  not — then  there  is  hope  for  me? 
Confound  it,  Rose,  I  'm  not  going  to  talk  in 
riddles.  You  're  the  only  girl  in  the  world  for 
me."  He  took  her  hand.  "And  I  can't  live 
without  you.  You  are  going  to  live  with  me, 
are  n't  you,  Rose  ?" 

She  shook  her  head,  but  tears  dropped  upon 
his  hand.  He  allured  her  like  the  sunshine, 
this  lithe  young  lover. 

His  keen  eyes  saw  a  lack  of  decision  in  this 
head  shake.  He  held  her  hand  and  his  fingers 
caressed  her  wrist.  Unconsciously,  with  pure 
intent,  he  used  all  the  wiles  of  men,  which 
women  love,  yet  dread.  His  voice  grew  vibrant, 
yet  remained  low,  his  clear  eyes  called  in  subtler 
speech  than  his  tongue.  His  wrist  touched  her 
knee,  his  hair  moved  in  the  soft  wind. 

"  I  can  't  bear  to  go  home  without  you,  Rose, 
darling.  Come,  tell  me,  do  n't  you  care  for  me 
at  all,  not  the  least  bit  ?" 

She  tried  to  draw  her  hand  away,  but  he  held 
it  and  continued : 

"  I  've  got  everything  all  planned.  I  'm  going 
into  law  with  my  father.  I  've  got  plans  for  a 
house,  and  we  '11  begin  life  together  today " 

His  physical  charm  united  itself  some  way 
with  the  smell  of  clover,  the  movement  of  the 
wind  and  the  warm  flood  of  sunshine.  She  had 
never  loved  him,  though  she  had  always  liked  him, 
but  now  something  sweet  and  powerful,  something 
146 


THE   GATES  OPEN  WIDE 

deep  buried,  rose  in  her  heart  and  shortened  her 
breath.  Her  face  burned,  her  throat  was  swollen 
shut,  her  face  was  distorted,  for  one  moment  she 
was  mastered. 

Then  the  swift  revulsion  came,  and  she  drew 
her  hand  away  and  sprang  up. 

"No!"  she  cried  harshly  and  bitterly,  "I 
can  't  do  it ;  it  is  impossible.  Go  away !  " 

Then  the  blood  slowly  fell  away  from  her 
neck  and  face,  and  her  heart  ceased  to  pound, 
her  eyes  cleared  and  she  grew  gentle  again,  see 
ing  his  pained  and  frightened  face. 

"I  didn't  mean  that — I  didn't  mean  to  be 
so  rough,  Tom,  but  it 's  no  use.  I  do  n't  want  to 
marry  you,  nor  anybody  else.  All  I  want  is  to 
be  let  alone.  I  'm  going  to  Chicago.  I  want  to 
see  the  world.  I  can  't  be  shut  up  in  a  little 
town  like  Lodi.  I  want  to  see  people — thou 
sands  of  people.  I  want  to  see  what  the  world 
is  like.  I  may  go  to  Europe  before  I  get  done 
with  it.  I  'm  going  to  study  art.  I  'm  going  to 
be  great.  I  can 't  marry  any  one  now." 

She  poured  out  her  confidences  in  swift,  almost 
furious  protest.  She  had  never  confided  to  him 
so  much  before. 

His  pain  was  not  so  overpowering  but  he 
found  strength  to  say  : 

"  I  thought  you  were  going  to  be  a  writer." 

She  flushed  again.  "  Well,  I  am.  But  I  'm 
going  to  be  a  painter,  too.  I  'm  going  home," 

'47 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

she  said  abruptly,  and  in  such  wise  they  walked 
along  the  returning  way. 

The  glamour  was  gone  from  the  young  man's 
hair  and  eyes.  She  saw  him  as  he  was,  clean, 
boyish,  shallow.  His  physical  charm  was  lost, 
and  a  sort  of  disgust  of  his  supple  waist  and 
rounded  limbs  came  upon  her,  and  disgust  at  her 
self  for  that  one  moment  of  yielding  weakness; 
and  also  the  keen  fear  of  having  been  unjust,  of 
having  given  him  a  claim  which  she  was  repudi 
ating,  troubled  her. 

He  made  one  last  attempt. 

"  Rose,  I  wish  you  'd  reconsider.  What  can 
you  do  in  the  world  ?" 

"  I  do  n't  know.  I  can  be  my  own  master  for 
one  thing,"  she  replied.  "I  can  see  the  world  for 
another  thing  —  and  besides,  I  don't  want  to 
marry  any  one  just  yet."  Her  voice  was  abrupt, 
merciless,  and  the  young  fellow  bowed  his  head 
to  his  sentence.  She  was  too  mysterious  and 
powerful  for  him  to  understand. 

"What  could  I  do  in  Lodi  ?  Gossip  with 
old  women  and  grow  old.  I  know  those  towns. 
I  had  rather  live  in  the  country  than  in  one  of 
those  flat  little  towns." 

"  But  I  '11  go  to  the  city  with  you  if  you  want 
me  to.  I  can  get  a  place  there.  I  know  two 
men  —  " 

"  No,  no  !     I  can  't  do  it.     I  want  to  be  free. 


148 


THE   GATES  OPEN   WIDE 

I  've  got  something  to  do,  and, — I  do  n't  care  for 
you—" 

"  Well,  go  to  the  ball  with  me  to-night,  won't 
you  ?  "  he  pleaded. 

"  Yes,  if  you  never  speak  about  this  to  me 
again." 

He  promised ;  of  course  he  promised.  Stand 
ing  where  he  did  he  would  have  promised 
anything. 

It  was  a  singular  and  lovely  ball.  The 
people  came  together  simply  and  quietly,  on 
foot,  or  on  the  tinkling  mule-car. 

There  were  no  ultra-fashionable  dresses,  and 
no  jewelry.  The  men  came  in  various  cuts  of 
coats,  and  the  girls  wore  simple  white,  or  blue  or 
mauve  dresses,  beneath  which  their  lithe  un- 
trammeled  waists  and  firm  rounded  limbs  moved 
with  splendid  grace. 

It  was  plain  all  were  not  practised  dancers. 
Some  of  the  young  men  danced  with  hands 
waggling  at  the  wrist,  and  the  girls  did  not 
know  all  the  changes,  but  laughter  was  hearty 
and  without  stint. 

Around  the  walls  sat  or  stood  the  parents  of 
the  dancers,  dignified  business  men  and  their 
wives,  keen-eyed  farmers  and  village  merchants 
and  lawyers.  There  were  also  the  alumni  from 
all  over  the  West,  returned  to  take  part  in  the 


149 


ROSE   OF   BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

exercises,  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  dear  old 
campus.  It  was  all  a  renewal  of  youth  to  them. 
Many  came  from  the  prairies.  Some  came  from 
the  bleak  mountain  towns,  and  the  gleam  of  the 
lakes,  the  smell  of  grass,  the  dapple  of  sunlight 
on  the  hillside  affected  them  almost  to  tears. 
Now  they  danced  with  their  wives  and  were 
without  thought  or  care  of  business. 

Professors  danced  with  their  pupils,  husbands 
with  their  wives,  who  had  also  been  pupils  here. 
Lovely,  lithe  young  girls  dragged  their  bearded 
old  fathers  out  into  the  middle  of  the  floor, 
amid  much  laughter,  and  the  orchestra  played 
"Money-Musk"  and  "Old  Zip  Coon"  and 
"  The  Fireman's  Dance  "  for  their  benefit. 

Then  the  old  fellows  warmed  up  to  it,  and 
danced  right  manfully,  so  that  the  young  people 
applauded  with  swift  clapping  of  their  hands. 
Plump  mothers  took  part  in  the  quaint  old 
fashioned  figures,  and  swung  and  balanced  and 
"  sashayed  "  in  a  gale  of  fun. 

It  was  a  beautiful  coming  together  of  the 
University.  It  represented  the  unspoiled  neigh- 
borliness  and  sex  camaraderie  of  the  West. 
Its  refinement  was  not  finicky,  its  dignity  was 
not  frigidity,  and  its  fun  was  frank  and  hearty. 
May  the  inexorable  march  of  wealth  and  fashion 
pass  by  afar  off,  and  leave  us  some  little  of  these 
dear  old  forms  of  social  life. 

It  had  a  tender  and  pensive  quality,  also.  The 


THE   GATES  OPEN   WIDE 

old  were  re- living  the  past,  as  well  as  the  young, 
and  all  had  an  unconscious  feeling  of  the  transi- 
toriness  of  these  tender  and  careless  hours. 
Smiles  flashed  forth  on  the  faces  of  the  girls  like 
hidden  roses  disclosed  in  deep  hedges  by  a  pass 
ing  wind-gust,  to  disappear  again  in  pensive, 
thoughtful  deeps. 

Rose  danced  with  Dr.  Thatcher,  who  took 
occasion  to  say : 

"  Well,  Rose,  you  leave  us  soon." 

"Yes,  to-morrow,  Doctor." 

"What  are  your  plans  ?" 

"I  do  n't  know;  I  must  go  home  this  summer. 
I  want  to  go  to  Chicago  next  winter." 

"Aha,  you  go  from  world  to  world.  Rose, 
you  will  do  whatever  you  dream  of — provided 
you  do  n't  marry."  He  said  this  as  lightly  as  he 
could,  but  she  knew  he  meant  it. 

"There  isn't  much  danger  of  that,"  she  said, 
trying  to  laugh. 

"Well,  no,  perhaps  not."  They  fell  into  a 
walk,  and  moved  slowly  just  outside  the  throng 
of  dancers. 

"Now,  mark  you,  I  don't  advise  you  at  all. 
I  have  realized  from  the  first  a  fatality  in  you. 
No  one  can  advise  you.  You  must  test  all  things 
for  yourself.  You  are  alone ;  advice  cannot  reach 
you  nor  influence  you  except  as  it  appeals  to 
your  own  reason.  To  most  women  marriage  is 
the  end  of  ambition,  to  you  it  may  be  an  incen- 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

tive.  If  you  are  big  enough,  you  will  succeed  in 
spite  of  being  wife  and  mother.  I  believe  in  you. 
Can  't  you  come  and  see  me  to-morrow  ?  I  want 
to  give  you  letters  to  some  Chicago  people." 

The  company  began  to  disperse,  and  the 
sadness  impending  fell  upon  them  all.  One  by 
one  good-byes  were  said,  and  the  dancers  one 
and  all  slipped  silently  away  into  the  night. 


152 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  WOMAN'S  PART 

It  was  all  over  at  last,  the  good-byes,  the 
tearful  embraces,  the  cheery  waving  of  hands, 
and  Rose  was  off  for  home.  There  were  other 
students  on  the  train,  but  they  were  young 
students  whom  she  did  not  know.  At  the 
moment  it  seemed  as  if  she  were  leaving  all  that 
was  worth  while — five  years  of  the  most  beautiful 
time  of  her  life  lay  behind  her. 

She  had  gone  there  a  country  girl,  scared  and 
awkward.  She  was  now  a  woman  (it  seemed  to 
her)  and  the  time  for  action  of  some  sort  had 
come.  She  did  not  look  to  marriage  as  a  safe 
harbor.  Neither  had  she  regarded  it  as  an  end 
of  all  individual  effort,  as  many  of  her  compan 
ions  unequivocally  had  done. 

After  her  experiences  during  those  last  three 
days,  she  felt  as  if  sex  were  an  abomination,  and 
she  wished  for  freedom  from  love.  She  had 
already  the  premonition  that  she  was  of  those 
who  seem  destined  to  know  much  persecution  of 
men. 

Her  strong,  forceful,  full-blooded,  magnetic 

153 


ROSE   OF   DUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

beauty  could  not  be  hidden  so  deep  under  sober 
garments  but  that  the  ever-seeking  male  eye 
quickly  discovered  it.  As  she  entered  the  car 
she  felt  its  penetrating,  remorseless  glare,  and 
her  face  darkened,  though  she  was  no  longer 
exposed  to  the  open  insults  of  brakemen  and 
drummers.  There  was  something  in  the  droop 
of  her  eyelids  and  the  curve  of  her  mouth  which 
kept  all  men  at  a  distance,  even  the  most  depraved. 
She  was  not  a  victim — a  girl  to  be  preyed 
upon.  She  was  quite  evidently  a  proud,  strong 
woman,  to  be  sued  for  by  all  flatteries  and 
attentions. 

The  train  whirled  along  over  the  familiar 
route,  and  the  land  was  most  beautiful.  Fresh 
grass  everywhere,  seas  of  green  flashing  foliage, 
alternating  with  smooth  slopes  of  meadow  where 
cattle  fed,  yet  she  saw  little  of  it.  With  sombre 
eyes  turned  to  the  pane  she  thought  and 
thought. 

What  was  to  be  done  now  ?  That  was  the 
question.  For  a  year  she  had  been  secretly 
writing  verse  and  sending  it  to  the  magazines. 
It  had  all  been  returned  to  her.  It  made  her 
flush  hot  to  think  how  they  had  come  back  to 
her  with  scarcely  a  word  of  civility.  Evidently 
she  was  wrong.  She  was  not  intended  for  a 
writer  after  all.  She  thought  of  the  stage,  but 
.she  did  not  know  how  to  get  upon  the  stage. 

The  train  drew  steadily  forward,  and  familiar 

154 


THE   WOMAN'S   PART 

lines  of  hill-tops  aroused  her,  and  as  she  turned 
her  face  toward  home,  the  bent  and  grizzled 
figure  of  her  father  came  to  her  mind  as  another 
determining  cause.  He  demanded  something 
of  her  now  after  nearly  five  year's  absence  from 
home,  for  he  had  paid  her  way — made  it  possi 
ble  for  her  to  be  what  she  was. 

There  he  sat  holding  his  rearing  horses  and 
watching,  waiting  for  her.  She  had  a  sudden, 
swift  realization  of  his  being  a  type  as  he  sat 
there,  and  it  made  her  throat  fill,  for  it  seemed 
to  put  him  so  far  away,  seemed  to  take  away 
something  of  her  own  sweet  dignified  person 
ality. 

There  was  a  crowd  of  people  on  the  platform. 
Some  of  them  she  knew,  some  of  them  she  did 
not.  She  looked  very  fine  and  ladylike  to  John 
Butcher  as  she  came  down  the  car  steps,  and  the 
brakeman  helped  her  down,  with  elaborate  and 
very  respectful  courtesy. 

The  horses  pranced  about,  so  that  John  could 
not  even  take  her  hand,  and  so  she  climbed  into 
the  buggy  alone. 

"  Carl  will  take  care  of  your  trunk,"  he  said. 
"  Give  him  the  check." 

She  turned  to  Carl,  whom  she  had  not  no 
ticed.  He  bowed  awkwardly. 

"  How  de  do,  Rosie,"  he  said,  as  he  took  the 
check.  He  wore  brown  denims,  and  a  broad 
hat  and  looked  strong  and  clumsy. 

155 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

She  had  no  time  to  speak  to  him,  for  the 
horses  whirled  away  up  the  street.  The  air  was 
heavy  with  the  scent  of  clover,  and  the  bitter 
sweet,  pungent  smells  of  Lombardy  poplar  trees. 

They  rode  in  silence  till  the  village  lay  be 
hind  them  and  the  horses  calmed  down. 

"  Cap's  a  perfect  fool  about  the  cars,"  said 
John.  "  But  I  had  to  take  him  ;  Jennie's  get 
ting  too  heavy,  I  darsent  take  her." 

"How  is  the  stock?" 

"O,  all  right.  We  had  a  big  crop  of  lambs 
this  spring.  The  bees  are  doing  well,  but  the 
clover  don 't  seem  to  attract  'em  this  year. 
The  corn  looks  well  except  down  near  the  creek 
— it's  been  wet  there  in  rainy  seasons,  you  re 
member."  He  gave  other  reports  concerning 
stock. 

Rose  felt  for  the  first  time  the  unusualness  of 
this  talk.  All  her  life  she  had  discussed  such 
things  with  him,  but  on  previous  vacations  she 
had  not  been  conscious  of  its  startling  plainness, 
but  now  it  came  to  her  with  a  sudden  hot  flush 
— think  of  such  talk  being  reported  of  her  to  the 
Doctor  and  Mrs.  Thatcher ! 

There  was  something  strange  in  her  father's 
manner,  an  excitement  very  badly  concealed, 
which  puzzled  her.  He  drove  with  almost  reck 
less  swiftness  up  the  winding  coul£  road.  He 
called  her  attention  to  the  way-side  crops,  and 
succeeded  in  making  her  ask: 


THE   WOMAN'S   PART 

"  Father,  what  in  the  world  is  the  matter  with 
you?  I  never  knew  you  to  act  like  this." 

John  laughed.  "  I  'm  a  little  upset  getting 
you  home  again,  that's  all." 

She  caught  a  gleam  of  new  shingles  through 
the  trees. 

"What  have  you  been  building?" 
"  O,  nothing  much — new  granary — patchin* 
up  a  little,"  he  replied  evasively.  When  they 
whirled  into  the  yard  she  was  bewildered — the 
old  cottage  was  gone  and  a  new  house  stood  in 
its  place. 

John  broke  into  a  laugh. 
"  How 's  that  for  a  new  granary?  " 
"  O  father,  did  you  do  that  for  me?" 
"  For  you  and  me  together,  Rosie." 
They  sat  in   the  carriage  and  looked  at  it. 
Rose   peered    through    tear- blurred    lids.       He 
loved  her  so — this  bent    old  father!     He  had 
torn    down   the    old    home  and   built   this  for 
her. 

Her  aunt  came  out  on  the  side  porch: 
"Hello,  Rosie,  just  in  time!  The  shortcake  is 
about  ready.  Ain't  you  comin'  in?" 

John  gave  the  team  up  to  the  hired  hand 
(who  stared  at  Rose  with  wondering  eyes)  and 
then  they  walked  upon  the  front  porch  and  in 
the  front  door.  It  was  new — so  new  it  glist 
ened  everywhere  and  was  full  of  the  fragrance 
of  new  lumber  and  the  odor  of  paint. 

157 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

"  I  did  n't  get  any  new  furniture,"  John  said. 
"  I  thought  I  'd  let  you  do  that." 

Rose  turned  and  put  her  arms  about  his 
neck. 

"You  dear  old  daddy,  what  can  I  do  for 
you,  you  're  so  good  to  me?" 

"There  now,  don't  mind,  I'm  paid  for  it 
now.  I  just  want  you  to  enjoy  it,  that's  all,  and 
if  any  feller  comes  around  and  you  like  him, 
why,  you  can  bring  him  right  here.  It's  big 
enough  now,  and  I  'm  ready  to  let  the  farm  any 
time." 

Rose  saw  his  purpose  to  the  uttermost  line. 
He  had  built  this  to  keep  her  at  home.  How 
little  he  knew  her  now,  to  think  that  she  could 
marry  and  bring  her  husband  home  to  this 
place! 

She  kissed  him  and  then  they  passed  into  all 
the  rooms. 

"Come  here — I've  got  something  to  show 
you,"  he  said  mysteriously.  "  I  just  determined 
to  have  it,  no  matter  what  it  cost."  He  pushed 
open  a  door  at  the  head  of  the  stairway,  calling 
triumphantly: 

"There — how's  that? — a  bathroom!  " 

For  an  instant  she  felt  like  laughing.  Then 
she  looked  at  his  kind  and  simple  face  and  she 
broke  down  again  and  cried. 

John  understood  now  that  this  was  only  her 
way  of  being  glad,  so  he  just  patted  her  shoulder 

158 


THE  WOMAN'S  PART 

and  got  her  a  chair,  and  waited  for  her  to  dry 
her  eyes. 

"Yes,  sir,"  he  went  on,  "cost  me  a  hundred 
dollars  to  put  that  in,  say  nothin'  of  the  fixin's. 
I  had  to  have  special  set  of  eave-spouts  made  to 
run  the  water  into  a  cistern  on  top  of  the  kitchen. 
I  thought  of  bringing  the  water  from  the  spring, 
but  that's  a  little  hard." 

They  went  down  to  supper  at  last,  he  full  of 
talk,  she  very  quiet.     His  loquacity  was  painful 
to  her,  for  it  seemed  to  indicate  growing  age% 
and  loneliness. 

The  meagreness  of  the  furniture  and  table 
ware  never  struck  her  so  forcibly  as  now,  lost  in 
the  big  new  house.  Intellectual  poverty  was 
shown  also  in  the  absence  of  books  and  news 
papers,  for  John  Butcher  read  little,  even  of 
political  newspapers,  and  magazines  were  quite 
outside  his  experimental  knowledge  till  Rose 
brought  a  few  home  with  her  in  her  later  vaca 
tions. 

There  were  no  elegancies  at  their  table — that 
too  was  borne  in  upon  her  along  with  the  other 
disturbing  things.  It  was  as  if  her  eyes  had 
suddenly  been  opened  to  all  the  intolerable 
meagreness  of  her  old-time  life. 

"  I  didn  't  buy  any  carpets  or  wallpaper, 
Rosie ;  I  thought  you  'd  like  to  do  that  your 
self,"  John  explained  as  she  looked  around  the 
room. 

159 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

But  outside  all  was  beautiful,  very  beautiful. 
Under  the  trees  the  sinking  sun  could  be  seen 
hanging  just  above  the  purple-green  hills  to  the 
northwest.  Robins  clucked,  orioles  whistled,  a 
ring-dove  uttered  its  never  changing,  sorrowful, 
sweet  love-note.  A  thrush,  high  on  a  poplar, 
sang  to  the  setting  sun  a  wonderful  hymn,  and 
the  vivid  green  valley,  with  its  white  houses  and 
red  barns,  was  flooded  with  orange  light,  heaped 
and  brimming  full  of  radiance  and  fragrance, 
f  And  yet  what  was  all  that  to  a  girl  without 
love,  a  brain  which  craved  activity,  not  repose  ? 
Vain  were  sunset  sky,  flaming  green  slopes  and 
rows  of  purple  hills  to  eyes  which  dreamed  of 
cities  and  the  movement  of  masses  of  men.  She 
was  young,  not  old  ;  ambitious,  not  vegetative. 
She  was  seeking,  seeking,  and  to  wait  was  not 
her  will  or  wish. 

The  old  man  saw  nothing  difficult  in  all  this. 
She  was  educated  now.  He  had  patiently  sent 
her  to  school  and  now  it  was  over;  she  was  to  be 
his  once  more,  his  pride  and  comfort  as  of  olden 
time.  Without  knowing  it  he  had  forged  the 
chains  round  her  with  great  skill.  Every  carpet 
she  bought  would  bind  her  to  stay.  She  was  to 
select  the  wallpaper,  and  by  so  doing  to  pro 
claim  her  intention  to  conform  and  to  content 
herself  in  the  new  home. 

She  rose  the  next  morning  feeling,  in  spite  of 
disturbing   thought,    the  wonderful   peace  and 
1 60 


THE  WOMAN'S  PART 

beauty  of  the  coule",  while  her  heart  responded 
to  the  birds,  rioting  as  never  before — orioles, 
thrushes,  bob-o-links,  robins,  larks — their  voices 
wonderful  and  brilliant  as  the  sunlight  which 
streamed  in  upon  her  new,  uncarpeted  floor. 

As  she  looked  around  at  the  large,  fine  new 
room,  she  thought  of  the  little  attic  in  which  she 
had  slept  so  many  years.  Yes,  decidedly  there 
would  be  pleasure  in  furnishing  the  house,  in 
making  her  room  pretty  with  delicate  drapery 
and  cheerful  furniture. 

She  began  to  plan,  only  to  break  off — it 
seemed  in  some  way  to  be  deceit.  No,  before 
she  did  anything  to  it  she  must  tell  him  she 
could  not  stay  here,  and  she  went  down  to  break 
fast  with  that  resolution  tightly  clutched  in  her 
teeth,  but  when  she  saw  his  smiling  face  she 
could  not  speak  the  word.  He  was  so  pathetic 
ally  happy.  She  had  never  seen  him  so  demon 
strative,  and  this  mood  showed  her  how  deeply 
he  had  missed  her. 

Now  that  she  was  home  for  good,  he  felt  no 
need  of  concealing  his  exceeding  great  joy  of 
her  daily  presence  with  him.  She  remembered 
all  the  brave  words  he  had  spoken  to  her  in 
order  to  make  her  feel  he  did  not  suffer  when 
she  was  happy  at  school.  Fortunately  at  break 
fast  he  was  full  of  another  subject. 

"Is  'pose  you  heard  that  Carl  is  to  be  mar 
ried?"  he  announced  rather  than  asked  her. 
161 


ROSE  OF  DUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

She  looked  up  quickly — "No,  is  he?  To 
whom  ?  " 

"  Little  Sary  Wilson." 

"  Well,  I  'm  very  glad  to  hear  it,"  she  said 
quietly. 

Some  way,  at  that  moment  she  seemed  more 
alien  to  him  than  ever  before,  and  he  looked 
across  at  her  in  wonder.  How  lady-like  she  was 
in  her  tasty  dress.  How  white  her  hands  were  ! 
And  it  was  wonderful  to  think  she  could  sit  so  at 
ease  and  hear  of  Carl 's  approaching  marriage.  He 
remembered  the  time  when  he  called  them  to  his 
knee,  the  two  young  rogues. 

She  was  thinking  of  that  too.  It  was  far  in 
the  past,  yet,  far  as  it  was,  it  was  still  measur 
able,  and  a  faint  flush  crept  over  her  face.  No 
one  in  the  world  knew  of  that  experience  but 
Carl  and  her  father.  Would  Carl 's  wife  ever 
know  of  it  ?  That  was  the  thought  which 
caused  the  flush. 

The  first  day  she  spent  in  looking  about  the 
farm  with  John.  Towards  evening  she  climbed 
the  hills  alone,  and  spent  an  hour  on  the 
familiar  slope.  It  helped  her  to  look  down  on 
her  plans  and  her  daily  life,  and  the  next  day 
she  met  the  question  direct. 

"Well,  Rosie,  when  will  you  go  to  Tyre  and 
do  our  buyin  '  ?  " 

"O,  not  yet.  I  want  to  look  around  a  few 
days  first." 

162 


THE  WOMAN'S   PART 

"All  right — you  're  the  captain  !  only  we 
can  't  have  any  company  till  we  get  some  fur 
niture." 

True  enough  !  there  was  the  excuse  for  buy 
ing  the  furniture; even  if  she  were  to  go  to  the 
city  she  would  be  home  during  the  summer,  and 
she  would  want  to  entertain  her  friends.  The 
fever  seized  her  thereupon,  and  she  plunged  into 
planning  and  cataloguing.  They  had  but  little  to 
spend,  and  she  was  put  to  her  wit's  end  to  pass 
ably  furnish  the  house. 

This  filled  in  the  first  week  or  two  of  her  stay, 
and  she  suffered  less  from  loneliness  than  she 
expected  ;  it  came  only  at  intervals,  just  before 
going  to  sleep,  or  in  the  morning,  as  she  made 
her  toilet  for  each  new  but  eventless  day. 

As  the  home  came  to  look  pretty  and  com 
plete,  she  thought  of  asking  Josie  to  come  on 
to  visit  her,  and  finally  wrote  her,  and  when  she 
had  promised  to  come,  there  was  something  to 
look  forward  to. 

Meanwhile,  she  found  something  wrong  be 
tween  herself  and  her  old  friends.  She  meant 
to  be  just  the  same  as  ever,  and  at  first  she 
seemed  to  succeed,  but  she  found  herself  not 
listening  to  them,  or  looking  at  them  with  alien 
eyes.  She  heard  their  harsh,  loud  voices,  not 
their  words,  and  she  saw  their  stiff,  ungraceful 
gestures  instead  of  the  fancy-work  and  worked- 
over  dresses  which  they  showed  her.  They 

163 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

looked  at  each  other  with  significant  nods. 
Other  young  people  had  gone  away  to  school 
without  acquiring  airs,  why  should  she  ? 

It  was  not  her  education  in  books,  but  in 
manners,  which  made  her  alien.  She  was  edu 
cated  above  them,  too.  Her  thoughts  were 
higher  than  theirs,  and  she  did  not  attempt  to 
play  the  hypocrite.  She  was  not  interested  in 
them ;  for  the  most  part  they  bored  her.  In  a 
few  cases  the  misunderstanding  grew  to  be  anger 
and  distrust. 

Carl  drove  over  once  with  his  bride-elect,  and 
they  all  sat  stiffly  in  the  front  room  for  one  dis 
tressing  hour;  then  they  left,  never  to  come 
again. 

Sarah  counted  the  visit  not  all  in  vain,  how 
ever,  for  she  quite  closely  reproduced  Rose's 
shirt-waist  the  following  week — that  much  she 
got  out  of  the  call.  Carl  was  awed  and  troubled 
a  little  by  the  failure  of  his  bride  to  get  on  with 
Rose,  and  Rose  was  bitter  over  it  in  heart.  She 
could  not  see  the  fun  of  all  this,  as  so  many 
story-writers  had  done.  It  was  all  pitiful  and 
bitter  and  barren,  and  to  eat  with  the  knife  and 
drink  coffee  with  a  loud,  sipping  sound  were 
inexcusable  misdemeanors  to  her  overwrought 
temper. 

Josie  came  in  like  a  little  oriole.  She  fluffed 
down  off  the  train  like  a  bunch  of  lilac  bloom 
.one  July  day. 

164 


THE  WOMAN'S  PART 

"O,  what  a  funny  little  town,"  she  said,  after 
kissing  Rose  how-de-do.  "Are  we  to  ride  in 
this  carriage  ?  O,  I'm  so  disappointed !  " 

"Why  so?" 

"  O,  I  wanted  to  ride  on  a  hay-cart  or  dray  or 
whatever  it  is.  Mr.  Butcher,  I'm  so  glad  to  see 
you."  She  sprang  upon  John  and  kissed  him, 
"like  a  swaller  lightin'  on  me,"  he  said  after 
ward.  It  astonished  him  but  gratified  him. 

"  Do  you  live  far  out  in  the  country — the  real 
country?"  she  asked. 

"  Well,  you'd  think  so  if  you  had  to  haul  corn 
over  it  in  the  spring,"  he  replied. 

"  I'd  like  to  haul  corn  over  it,"  she  replied. 
"May  I?" 

"You  can  do  anything  you  want  to,"  John  said. 

Josie  got  at  the  picturesque  qualities  of  the 
people.  They  all  interested  her  and  amused 
her  like  the  cattle  without  horns,  and  the  guinea- 
hens  which  clacked  like  clocks,  and  the  tadpoles 
in  the  marsh.  She  had  no  personal  relations — 
no  responsibilities  toward  them  such  as  Rose 
felt  were  inescapably  hers.  Josie  had  no  respon 
sibilities  at  all,  none  under  heaven  ! 

She  laughed  at  the  ill-made  dresses,  and 
winked  over  the  heads  of  the  old  wives  when 
they  talked  in  dialect,  and  made  fun  of  the  boys 
who  came  courting  her,  and  sang  "Where  did 
they  get  those  hats  ?"  after  coming  out  of  the 
church. 

165 


ROSE  OF  DUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

Rose  laughed  and  yet  suffered,  as  one  might 
whose  blood  relatives  were  ridiculed.  It  was  a 
new  experience  to  John  Dutcher  to  have  one 
about  who  cried  out  at  everything  as  if  it  were 
the  seventh  wonder.  The  summer  visitor  had 
never  before  penetrated  to  his  farm  and  all  the 
women  he  had  ever  known  could  talk  about 
cattle  and  drainage  and  wool-washing  almost 
like  men.  In  his  interest  and  desire  to  do  the 
part  of  entertainer,  he  pushed  on  into  subjects 
which  the  girl  listened  to  with  wonder- wide  eyes 
and  a  flushed  face. 

He  talked  to  her  as  he  would  with  Rose,  about 
"  farrer  cows  "  and  other  commonplaces  of  stock- 
raising  to  which  Rose  would  have  listened 
abstractedly  or  with  a  slight  feeling  of  disgust. 
To  Josie  it  was  deeply  fascinating,  and  just  a 
little  bit  like  reading  a  forbidden  book.  It 
affected  her  a  little  unwholesomely,  just  as  it 
would  have  made  Ed,  the  hand,  spasmodically 
guffaw  to  stand  before  the  Venus  de  Milo — use 
and  custom  do  much. 

She  sometimes  asked  questions  which  she 
would  not  have  dared  to  ask  her  uncle,  for  John 
Dutcher  was  beyond  sex;  indeed,  he  had  always 
been  a  man  of  pure  heart  and  plain  speech.  He 
was  even  in  youth  perfectly  free  from  any  sensu 
ality,  and  now  in  his  later  middle  life  sex  was  a 
fact  like  the  color  of  a  horse  or  a  squash,  and  all 
that  pertained  to  it  he  talked  of,  on  the  same 
166 


THE   WOMAN'S   PART 

plane.  It  did  not  occur  to  him  that  he  was  going 
beyond  the  lines  of  propriety  in  explaining  to 
this  delicate  little  woman  various  vital  facts  of 
stock-raising. 

Josie  sometimes  went  back  to  Rose  smilingly, 
and  told  her  what  had  taken  place. 

"  Why  did  n't  you  ask  me — you  little  goose  ? 
I  never  thought  you  did  n't  know  those  things. 
We  farm  girls  know  all  that  when  we  are  tod 
dlers.  We  can't  help  it." 

All  this  should  have  been  tonic,  thoroughly 
wholesome  to  the  dainty  over-bred  girl,  and  so 
it  ultimately  became,  though  it  disturbed  her  at 
the  time. 

The  two  girls  went  out  into  the  meadows  and 
upon  the  hills  almost  daily.  They  sought  wild 
strawberries  in  the  sunny  spots  amid  the  hazel 
brush.  They  buried  themselves  in  the  hay  in 
the  field  and  climbed  on  the  huge  loads  with 
John  and  rode  to  the  barn.  They  drank  water 
out  of  the  spring  lying  flat  on  the  ground;  Rose 
showed  how  it  was  done.  They  went  up  on  the 
hillsides  under  the  edges  of  great  ledges  of 
water-washed  sandstone  where  Rose  had  made 
her  playhouse  in  her  childhood,  and  she  drew 
forth  from  the  crevices  in  the  rocks  the  queer 
little  worn  pieces  of  rock  which  she  had  called 
horses  and  cows  and  soldiers. 

Rose  had  not  been  so  girlish  since  her  first 
vacation  from  school  in  Madison.  She  romped 

167 


ROSE   OF   BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

and  laughed  with  the  ever-joyous  Josie,  and  to 
gether  they  grew  brown  and  strong.  But  there 
came  into  the  lusty  splendid  joy  of  these  days 
hours  of  almost  sombre  silence  and  dreaming. 
It  all  ended  in  nothing,  this  attempt  at  amuse 
ment. 

Here  in  the  riant  and  overflowing  opulence 
of  July,  time  without  love's  companionship  was 
time  wasted.  Of  what  avail  these  soft  winds, 
the  song  of  birds,  the  gleam  and  lift  and  shim 
mer  of  leaves,  if  love  were  not  there  to  share  it  ? 

Josie  frankly  confessed  the  name  of  the  one 
she  wished  to  share  it  with,  but  Rose  looked  into 
the  sky  and  remained  silent.  Her  soul  was  still 
seeking,  restless,  avid,  yet  evermore  discerning, 
evermore  difficult  to  satisfy. 

They  fell  into  long  talks  on  marriage,  and 
Rose  confided  to  her  some  of  her  deepest 
thoughts,  though  she  felt  each  time  that  this  lit 
tle  twittering  sparrow  was  hardly  capable  of  un 
derstanding  her. 

"  I  want  to  know  the  men  who  think  the 
great  thoughts  of  the  world,"  she  said  once  as 
they  lay  under  the  beeches  on  the  hillside,  far 
above  the  haying  field.  "  I  don 't  want  to^ 
marry — I  only  want  to  know  men  who  can  lift 
me  up  by  their  great  plans.  I  want  to  forget 
myself  in  work  of  some  kind — I  do  n't  know 
what  kind — any  kind  that  will  make  me  big  and 
grand  in  my  life.  I  can't  stand  these  little 
168 


THE  WOMAN'S   PART 

petty  things  here  in  this  valley;  these  women 
drive  me  crazy  with  their  talk  of  butter  and 
eggs  and  made-over  bonnets." 

"I  think  they're  funny,"  said  Josie.  "They 
talk  so  loud  and  they  get  so  interested  in  such 
queer  things." 

Rose  fell  silent  again.  She  knew  Josie  was 
of  this  type,  only  her  affairs  happened  to  be  of 
a  different  sort,  not  larger,  only  different,  petti 
nesses  of  dress  and  teas. 

"  O,  for  a  nice  man  !  "  sighed  Josie.  "  Why 
did  n't  you  tell  me  there  were  n't  any  nice  men 
up  here?" 

Meanwhile  the  lack  of  men  was  not  apparent. 
Hardly  a  day  but  some  young  fellow  from  Tyre 
or  the  Siding  made  bold  to  hitch  his  horses  to 
the  fence  before  Butcher's  place.  Rose  was 
annoyed  and  gave  most  of  them  scant  courtesy. 
Josie,  however,  always  saw  them  and  managed 
to  have  great  amusement  out  of  their  embarrass 
ment. 

Like  summer  girls  in  general  she  thought 
any  man  better  than  no  man  at  all.  Rose,  how 
ever,  could  not  endure  a  love-glance  from  any 
of  them.  She  found  her  household  duties  press 
ing  when  they  called,  and  Josie  entertained  them, 
and  afterward  entertained  her  by  mimicking  their 
looks  and  tones.  It  was  very  funny  to  see  Josie 
screw  her  little  face  into  shapes  to  represent  her 
suitors'  bashful  grins  and  side-glances. 
169 


ROSE   OF   BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

They  were  not  always  bashful,  it  must  be 
said.  Sometimes  they  were  distressingly  bold, 
and  they  came  to  the  point  of  offensive  warfare 
with  a  readiness  and  assurance  which  scared 
Josie.  She  had  never  seen  anything  like  it. 

Rose  found  Josie  entertaining  in  any  mood. 


170 


CHAPTER  XIV 

AGAIN  THE  QUESTION  OF  HOME-LEAVING. 

But  the  day  came  at  last  when  Josie  must  say 
good-bye,  and  then  Rose's  essential  loneliness 
swept  back  upon  her  in  a  bitter  flood.  That 
night  she  walked  her  room  in  her  naked  feet, 
with  her  handkerchief  stifling  her  sobs,  so  that 
John  might  not  hear.  She  fought  it  out  there 
(she  supposed)  and  ended  at  last  by  determining 
to  sacrifice  herself  to  her  father. 

He  could  not  be  deserted,  he  needed  her  so, 
now  that  he  was  growing  old  and  a  little  weaker. 
She  must  put  away  her  vague,  ambitious  dreams 
of  success,  and  apply  herself  to  making  him 
happy. 

And  yet  to  what  end  was  all  her  study,  she 
thought,  during  these  later  years?  Could  it  be 
applied  to  doing  him  good?  Her  indifferent 
talent  as  a  musician  seemed  the  only  talent 
which  gave  him  joy.  He  cared  nothing — knew 
nothing,  of  the  things  she  loved  and  thought 
about! 

Was  her  life,  like  his,  to  come  down  to  the 
raising  of  cattle  and  the  breeding  of  sheep? 
171 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

Was  not  his  office  served  in  educating  her? 
Should  not  the  old  be  sacrificed  to  the  young? 

All  these  devilish  questions  came  into  her 
mind  like  flashes  of  lurid  light,  but  they  all 
paled  and  faded  before  this  one  unchangeable 
radiance;  he  was  her  father,  tender,  loving, 
simple,  laborious  and  old. 

She  fell  asleep  after  hours  of  writhing  agony, 
worn  out,  yet  triumphant — she  imagined. 

But  she  was  not.  Day  followed  day,  each 
one  seemingly  more  hopeless  than  the  other. 
This  consideration  beat  like  a  knell  into  her 
brain,  love  could  never  come  to  her.  Marriage 
with  these  young  men  was  no  longer  possible. 
Love  was  out  there,  somewhere  in  the  great 
world,  in  the  city  among  artists  and  music- 
lovers,  and  men  of  great  thought  and  great 
deeds.  Her  powerful  physical,  mental  and 
emotional  womanhood  rebelled  at  this  thought 
of  lovelessness;  like  the  prisoner  of  old  bound  in 
a  sunless  cavern  where  the  drip-drop  of  icy  water 
fell  upon  his  brain,  she  writhed  and  seemed  like 
to  go  mad. 

This  was  the  age  of  cities.  The  world  's 
thought  went  on  in  the  great  cities.  The  life 
in  these  valleys  was  mere  stagnant  water,  the 
great  stream  of  life  swept  by  far  out  and  down 
there,  where  men  and  women  met  in  millions. 
To  live  here  was  to  be  a  cow,  a  tad-pole  !  Grass 
grew  here,  yes — but  she  could  not  live  on  grass. 
172 


AGAIN  THE  QUESTION  OF  HOME-LEAVING 

The  birds  sang  here,  yes — but  there  were  Patti, 
and  Duse,  and  Bernhardt  out  there  in  the  world. 

Here  you  could  arise  at  five  o'clock  to  cook 
breakfast  and  wash  dishes,  and  get  dinner,  and 
sweep  and  mend,  and  get  supper,  and  so  on,  till 
you  rotted,  like  a  post  stuck  in  the  mud.  Your 
soul  would  rot.  She  felt  change  going  on  all 
the  time.  She  was  slipping  back  into  shiftless- 
ness,  into  minute  untidiness  —  into  actual  sloven 
liness.  There  was  no  stimulus  in  these 
surroundings,  she  told  herself ;  everything  was 
against  her  higher  self. 

Once  she  had  read  a  sentence  from  Lowell 
which  flamed  upon  her  mind  now  each  time  she 
mused  upon  her  lot. 

"  The  wilderness  is  all  right  for  a  vacation, 
but  all  wrong  for  a  life-time." 

She  considered  the  coule"  a  wilderness.  It 
had  nothing  for  her  but  nature,  and  nature  palls 
upon  a  girl  of  twenty,  with  red  blood  in  her 
veins,  and  splendid  dreams  in  her  heart. 

Out  there  was  her  ideal.  "  Out  there  is  the 
man  who  is  to  fill  out  my  life/'  she  uttered 
to  herself  softly,  so  that  only  her  inner  ear 
heard. 

So  she  argued,  fought,  wept,  surrendered, 
and  went  to  battle  again.  While  all  about  her, 
John  and  his  sister,  moved  tranquilly  to  their 
daily  duties,  calm  as  the  cattle  in  the  meadows. 
To  the  discerning  eye  it  was  a  wonderful  sight  to 

173 


ROSE  OF  DUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

see  that  dark,  gloomy,  restless  girl  seated  op 
posite  those  serene,  almost  stolid  faces,  to  whom 
"the  world"  was  a  breeze  blowing  in  the  tree- 
tops.  She  had  the  bearing  of  a  rebellious  royal 
captive — a  duchess  in  exile.  Mrs.  Diehl  and 
the  hired  man  were  the  peasants  who  waited 
upon  her,  but  ate  with  her — and  her  father  was 
the  secure  free-holder,  to  whom  kings  were  ob 
scure,  world-distant  diseases. 

Then  the  equinoctial  storms  came  on,  and 
days  of  dull,  cold,  unremitting  rain  confined 
her  to  the  house.  The  birds  fell  silent,  the 
landscape,  blurred  with  gray  mist,  looked  grim 
and  threatening,  and  there  was  prophecy  of  win 
ter  in  the  air.  The  season  seemed  to  have 
rushed  into  darkness  cold  and  decay,  in  one 
enormous  bound.  The  hills  no  longer  lifted 
buoyant  crests  to  heaven;  they  grew  cheerless 
and  dank  as  prison  walls. 

One  night  Rose  spoke.  She  had  always  been 
chary  of  caresses ;  even  when  a  child  she  sat 
erect  upon  her  father  's  knee,  with  a  sober  little 
face,  and  when  she  grew  sleepy  she  seldom  put 
hands  to  his  neck,  but  merely  laid  her  head  on 
his  breast  and  went  to  sleep.  John  understood 
her  in  all  this,  for  was  he  not  of  the  same  feel 
ing  ?  Love  that  babbled  spent  itself,  his  had  no 
expression. 

His  heart  was  big  with  pride  and  affection 
when  his  splendid  girl  came  over  and  put  her 


AGAIN  THE  QUESTION  OF  HOME-LEAVING 

arms  about  his  neck,  and  put  her  forehead  down 
on  his  shoulder. 

"O  pappa  John,  you're  so  good  tome — 
I  'm  ashamed  —  I  do  n't  deserve  this  new 
house  !" 

"  O  yes  y'  do,  daughter."  His  voice  when  he 
said  "daughter"  always  made  her  cry,  it  was 
deep  and  tender  like  the  music  of  water.  It 
stood  for  him  in  the  place  of  "dear"  and  "darl 
ing,"  and  he  very,  very  seldom  spoke  it.  All 
this  made  it  harder  for  her  to  go  on. 

"No, I  don't,  father — O,  father,  I  can't  stay 
here — I  can  't  bear  to  stay  here  now  !" 

"  Why  not,  Rosie  ?  " 

"  O  because  it 's  so  lonesome  for  me.  There 
is  nobody  for  me  to  talk  to "  (she  had  to  use 
phrases  he  could  understand)  "  and  I  want  to  go 
on  with  my  studies." 

John  considered  a  moment. 

"  But,  Rosie,  seems  to  me  you  've  got  enough  ; 
you  're  graduated." 

Rose  saw  the  hopelessness  of  making  him 
understand  that,  so  she  went  back. 

"It's  so  lonesome  for  me  here,  pappa  John!" 

He  considered  again.  "I  'spose  it  is.  Well, 
you  can  go  to  the  Siding  every  day  if  you  want 
to.  Hitch  up  old  Doll  every  day — " 

"  I  don  't  care  for  the  Siding ;  it 's  just  as 
lonesome  there  for  me.  I  want  to  go  to 
Chicago." 

175 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

John  grew  rigid.  "  Chicago !  What  you 
want  to  do  there  ?  " 

"  I  want  to  study,  pappa.  I  want  to  go  on 
with  my  work.  I  '11  come  home  summers  just 
the  same.  I  '11  come  home  Christmas  if  you 
want  me  to.  It  won't  cost  much,  I  '11  live  just 
as  cheap  as  I  can " 

"'T ain't  that,  't ain't  that,  Rose,"  he  said. 
Then  he  lifted  his  head  and  looked  around. 

She  read  his  thought  and  the  tears  came  to 
her  eyes  in  blinding  rush. 

"I  know,  pappa.  It's  terrible  to  go  now, 
when  you  've  built  this  nice  home  for  me,  but 
what  can  I  do  ?  It 's  so  lonesome  here !  I 
thought  maybe  I  'd  get  used  to  it,  but  it  gets 
worse.  I  can 't  stay  here  this  winter.  You  must 
let  me  go.  I  '11  go  crazy  if  I  stay  here  all 
winter.  I  must  go  out  into  the  world.  I  want 
to  be  an  artist.  I  want  to  see  great  people.  I 
can  't  stay  here,  pappa  John  !  " 

The  terrible  earnestness  of  every  sentence 
stabbed  John  Butcher's  heart  like  a  poniard 
thrust.  He  put  her  away  and  rose  stiffly. 

"  Well,  well,  Rosie,  if  you  want  to  go " 

He  did  not  finish,  but  turned  tremblingly 
;and  walked  out.  She  remained  on  the  floor 
near  his  chair  and  watched  him  go,  her  soul 
sick  with  wretchedness. 

Why  was  ,the  world  so  ordered  ?  Why  must 
she  torture  that  beautiful,  simple  soul  ?  Why 
176 


AGAIN  THE  QUESTION  OF  HOME-LEAVING 

was  it  that  all  her  high  thoughts,  her  dreams,  her 
ambitions,  her  longings,  seemed  to  carry  her 
farther  away  from  him  ? 

She  could  have  beaten  her  head  against  the 
wall  in  her  suffering.  She  rose  at  last  and 
crawled  slowly  to  her  room,  and  abandoned  her 
self  to  black,  rayless  hopelessness. 

John  Dutcher  went  out  to  the  hedgerow  and 
sat  down  on  a  stool.  Around  him  bees  were 
humming  in  the  wet  clover.  The  calves  thrust 
their  inquiring  noses  through  the  fence  and 
called  to  him.  The  rain-clouds  were  breaking 
up,  and  the  sun  was  striking  under  the  flying 
canopy  at  the  West. 

It  was  the  bitterest  moment  of  his  life,  since 
his  wife's  death.  His  eyes  were  opened  to  his 
fate ;  he  saw  what  he  had  done ;  he  had  edu 
cated  his  daughter  out  of  his  world.  Never 
again  would  she  be  content  in  the  coolly  beside 
him.  He  saw  how  foolish  he  had  been  all  these 
years,  to  suppose  he  could  educate  and  keep 
her.  For  a  moment  he  flamed  with  resentment  V 
and  said  to  himself  : 

"  I  wish  she  had  never  seen  a  book." 

Then  he  grew  tender.  He  saw  her  again  in 
her  little  blue  apron  with  its  pockets  full  of 
wheat — he  saw  her  blowing  hair,  her  sunny  face ; 
he  heard  again  the  wind-tossed  chatter  of  her 
cunning  lips.  He  ran  swiftly  over  her  develop 
ment — how  tall  she  grew  and  how  splendid  she 
177 


ROSE   OF   BUTCHER'S   COOLLY 

was  now,  the  handsomest  girl  in  the  coolly,  and 
he  softened.  She  was  right.  Who  was  there  of 
the  young  farmers  or  even  in  Tyre  good  enough 
for  her  ? 

So  he  rose  to  a  conception  which  had  never 
come  to  him  before,  and  even  now  it  was  form- 
lessly  vast ;  he  felt  the  power  of  the  outside 
world,  and  reached  to  a  divination  of  the  fatality 
of  it  all.  It  had  to  be,  for  it  was  a  part  of  prog 
ress.  He  was  old  and  bent  and  dull.  She  was 
young,  gloriously  young.  The  old  must  give 
way  to  the  young,  while  she  was  the  one  to  be 
bowed  down  to.  She  was  queen  and  he  was 
subject. 

With  these  conceptions  in  his  mind  he  went 
back  and  looked  for  her.  He  called  her  softly, 
but  she  did  not  hear,  she  was  sobbing  deep  into 
her  pillow.  He  came  up  the  stairs  and  saw  her 
lying  face  downward  on  her  bed.  His  heart 
rose  in  his  throat,  because  it  was  a  terrible  thing 
to  see  his  imperious  girl  weep. 

"  Rosie,  old  pappa  John  surrenders.  You  're 
right  and  he 's  an  old  dummy." 

She  turned  her  face  upon  him. 

"  No,  you  're  right.    We  won't  be  separated." 

"  But  we  ain't  going  to  be."  He  came  over 
and  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  bed. 

"You'll  come  home  summers,  and  maybe 
I'll  go  to  Chicago  winters." 


178 


AGAIN  THE  QUESTION  OF  HOME-LEAVING 

Her  face  flashed  into  a  smile.  She  flung  her 
arms  about  him  again. 

"  O  will  you,  pappa  John?" 

"  Course  I  will.  Wait  till  you  see  me  in  a 
spike-tail  coat  and  a  boiled  shirt.  I'll  astonish 
the  city  dudes." 

Rose  laughed  a  little  wildly,  and  tightened 
her  clasp  about  his  neck. 

"You're  my  dear  old  pappa  John." 

She  went  at  once  to  her  desk  and  wrote  a 
letter  to  Mary  Compton,  an  old  schoolmate  who 
had  gone  to  Chicago  and  whose  guidance  to 
bed  and  board  now  seemed  valuable. 

That  night  John  Butcher  did  not  go  to  sleep 
at  once,  as  he  usually  did  on  entering  his  room. 
He  went  to  his  bureau — the  old  bureau  he  had 
bought  for  his  wife  thirty  years  before.  In  it  he 
kept  his  pictures.  There  were  several  tin-types 
of  Rose,  in  awkward,  scared  poses,  and  there  too 
was  the  last  picture  of  his  wife  which  had  been 
taken  with  Rose  as  a  babe  in  her  arms. 

Butcher  sat  for  a  long  time  looking  at  it,  and 
the  tears  ran  down  his  face  unheeded,  pitiful  to 
see. 

When  he  got  up  at  last  he  moved  stiffly  as  if 
he  had  suddenly  grown  ten  years  older,  and  in 
his  sleep  his  sister  heard  him  groan  and  talk. 
In  the  morning  he  said  he  had  a  touch  of 
rheumatism,  but  it  would  most  probably  pass  off 
as  the  sun  came  out. 

179 


CHAPTER  XV 

CHICAGO 

Almost  6  o'clock,  and  the  train  due  in  Chica 
go  at  6:30  !  The  city  grew  more  formidable  to 
Rose  as  she  approached  it.  She  wondered  how  it 
would  first  appear  on  the  plain.  There  was  little 
sign  of  it  yet. 

As  she  looked  out  of  the  car  window  she  saw 
men  stacking  grain,  and  plowing.  It  was  sup 
per  time  at  home,  and  John  was  just  rising  from 
the  table.  The  calves  were  bleating  for  their 
pails  of  milk;  the  guinea-hens  were  clacking, 
and  the  little  turkeys  crying  in  the  grass,  the 
bees  were  homing,  heavy  with  honey,  and  here 
she  sat,  rushing  toward  that  appalling  and  un 
imaginable  presence — Chicago. 

Somewhere  just  ahead  it  sat,  this  mighty  hive 
of  a  million  and  a  half  of  people.  The  thought 
of  it  made  her  heart  beat  quick,  and  her  throat 
filled.  She  was  going  there ;  the  lake  was  there ; 
art  was  there,  and  music  and  the  drama — and 
love  !  Always  under  each  emotion,  always  be 
hind  every  success,  was  the  understanding  that 
love  was  to  be  the  woman's  reward  and  recom- 
180 


CHICAGO 

pense.  It  was  not  articulate  nor  feverish,  this 
thought ;  it  was  a  deep,  pure  emotion,  streaming 
always  toward  the  unknown. 

She  dreamed  as  the  train  rumbled  on.  She 
would  succeed,  she  must  succeed.  She  gripped 
the  seat-rail  with  her  broad,  strong  hands,  and 
braced  herself  like  one  entering  a  flood. 

It  was  this  wonderful  thing  again,  a  fresh, 
young  and  powerful  soul  rushing  to  a  great  city, 
a  shining  atom  of  steel  obeying  the  magnet, 
a  clear  rivulet  from  the  hills  hurrying  to  the  sea. 
On  every  train  at  that  same  hour,  from  every 
direction,  others,  like  her,  were  entering  on  the 
same  search  to  the  same  end. 

"  See  that  cloud  ?  "    some  one  said;  "  that 's 
Chicago." 

Rose  looked  —  far  to  the  south-east  a  gigan 
tic  smoke-cloud  soared  above  the  low  horizon 
line,  in  shape  like  an  eagle,  whose  hovering 
wings  extended  from  south  to  east,  trailing  mys 
terious  shadows  upon  the  earth.  The  sun 
lighted  its  mighty  crest  with  crimson  light,  and 
its  gloom  and  glow  became  each  moment  more 
sharply  contrasted.  Towards  this  portentous 
presence  the  train  rushed,  uttering  an  occasional 
shrill  neigh,  like  a  stallion's  defiance. 

The  brazen  bell  upon  the  engine  began  to  clang 

and  clang ;   small   towns  of   scattered   wooden 

houses    came  into  view  and  were  left  behind. 

Huge,  misshapen    buildings    appeared  in   flat 

181 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

spaces,  amid  hundreds  of  cars.  Webs  of  rail 
way  tracks  spread  out  dangerously  in  acres  of 
marvelous  intricacy,  amid  which  men  moved, 
sooty,  grimy,  sullen  and  sickly. 

Terrors  thickened.  Smells  assaulted  her 
sensitive  nostrils,  incomprehensible  and  horrible 
odors.  Everywhere  men  delved  in  dirt  and 
murk,  and  all  unloveliness.  Streets  began  to 
stretch  away  on  either  side,  interminable, 
squalid,  filled  with  scowling,  squaw-like  women 
and  elfish  children.  The  darkness  grew,  making 
the  tangle  and  tumult  a  deadly  struggle. 

Was  this  the  city  of  her  dreams  ?   This  the 
magnificent,  the  home  of  education  and  art. 

The  engine 's  bell  seemed  to  call  back 
"  Good  cheer!  Good  cheer!"  The  buildings  grew 
mightier  but  not  less  gloomy ;  the  freight  cars 
grew  fewer,  and  the  coaches  more  numerous. 
It  was  an  illimitable  jungle  filled  with  unrecog 
nizable  forms,  over  which  night  was  falling. 

The  man  with  a  hoop  of  clinking  checks  came 
through.  He  was  a  handsome,  clean  and  manly 
fellow,  and  his  calm,  kindly  voice  helped  Rose 
to  choke  down  her  dread. 

"  Baggage  checked  !  —  Baggage  —  Baggage 
checked  to  any  part  of  the  city  —  Baggage ! " 

In  him  she  saw  the  native  denizen  to  whom 
all  these  horrors  were  commonplace  sensations, 
and  it  helped  her.  It  could  n't  be  so  bad  as  it 
looked  to  her. 

182 


CHICAGO 

"  Chicago,  She-caw-go  !  "  called  the  brakeman, 
and  her  heart  for  a  moment  stood  still,  and  a 
smothering  sensation  came  upon  her.  She  was 
at  the  gate  of  the  city,  and  life  with  all  its  terrors 
and  triumphs  seemed  just  before  her. 

At  that  moment  the  most  beautiful  thing  in 
the  world  was  the  smooth  pasture  by  the  spring, 
where  the  sheep  were  feeding  in  the  fading 
light,  and  if  she  could,  she  would  have  turned 
back,  but  she  was  afloat,  and  retreat  was  impossi 
ble.  She  pressed  on  with  the  rest,  wondering 
what  she  could  do  if  Mary  did  not  meet  her. 

Mary  had  hardly  been  more  than  an  acquaint 
ance  at  school,  but  now  she  seemed  a  staff  to 
lean  upon.  Rose  looked  to  her  as  a  guide  to  a 
refuge,  a  hiding-place  from  all  these  terrors. 

Out  under  the  prodigious  arching  roof  she 
stepped,  into  the  tumult  of  clanging  bells,  of 
screeching,  hissing  steam  and  of  grinding 
wheels.  The  shouts  of  men  echoed  here  and 
there  in  the  vaulted  roof,  mysteriously  as  in  a 
cavern.  Up  the  long  walk,  streams  of  people 
moved,  each  one  laden,  like  herself,  with  a  valise. 
Electric  lamps  sputtered  overhead.  She  hurried 
on,  with  sensitive  ears  tortured  by  the  appalling 
tumult,  her  eyes  wide  and  apprehensive. 

Her  friend  was  not  to  be  seen,  and  she  moved 
on  mechanically  with  the  rest,  keeping  step 
beside  an  old  man  who  seemed  to  be  familiar 


183 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

with  the  station,  and  who  kept  off  (without 
knowing  it),  the  attentions  of  two  human  vul 
tures,  in  wait  for  such  as  Rose. 

They  moved  up  the  steps  into  the  waiting- 
room  before  Rose  gave  up  hope  of  her  friend. 
So  far  she  had  gone  securely,  but  could  she  find 
the  house  which  was  to  be  her  home,  alone  ? 

She  sat  down  for  an  instant  on  the  long  seat 
by  the  wall,  and  listened  to  the  obscure  thunder 
of  the  street  outside.  It  was  terrifying,  confus 
ing.  Shrill  screams  and  hoarse  shouts  rose 
above  a  hissing,  scraping  sound,  the  clang  of 
gongs  and  the  click  of  shoe-heels. 

Every  voice  was  pitched  to  an  unnatural  key, 
like  that  of  men  in  a  mill.  The  noise  seemed 
hot,  some  way,  like  smitten  iron  and  brass.  No 
sound  was  familiar  to  her,  nothing  cool  and 
reposeful.  Her  head  throbbed  and  her  tongue 
was  dry.  She  had  eaten  little  since  early  morn 
ing  and  she  felt  weak. 

She  looked  far  more  composed  and  self-reli 
ant  than  she  was,  and  when  her  friend  came 
swinging  up  to  her  she  cried  out :  "  O,  Mary  ! " 
and  her  friend  realized  a  little  of  her  relief  and 
gratitude. 

"  O,  here  you  are  !  I  got  delayed — forgive 
me.  I'm  all  out  o'  breath."  (Here  she  kissed 
her.)  "  How  well  you  look !  Your  complexion 
is  magnificent.  Give  me  your  valise.  We'll 
send  for  your  trunk.  Save  twenty-five  cents  by 
184 


CHICAGO 

having  it  done  up  town.  This  way — I'm  glad  to 
see  you.  How  is  Wisconsin  ?" 

Mary  Compton  was  tall,  red-haired  and 
strong.  Her  eyes  were  keen  and  laughing,  and 
the  tip  of  her  chip  hat  and  the  swing  of  her 
skirts  let  everybody  know  how  able  she  was  to 
take  care  of  herself — thank  you!  She  had  been 
the  smart  girl  of  a  small  town  near  Madison, 
and  had  come  to  the  city,  as  her  brother  Dan 
had  gone  to  Idaho,  for  the  adventure  of  it.  It 
was  quite  like  hunting  bears. 

"  Shall  we  take  the  grip  ?  " 

Rose  didn  't  know  what  she  meant,  but  she 
said  : 

"Just  as  you  like.'' 

"  I  like  to  take  the  grip ;  it  gives  a  fellow  a 
little  fresh  air,  if  there  is  any  at  all." 

A  train  of  cable-cars  came  nosing  along  like 
vicious  boars,  with  snouts  close  to  the  ground. 
Mary  helped  Rose  upon  the  open  forward  car, 
which  had  seats  facing  outward.  A  young  man 
lifted  his  hat  and  made  room  for  them. 

"  Hello,  John!"  said  Mary,  "aren't  you  a 
little  early  tonight  ?  Rose,  my  friend  Mr. 
Hardy.  Mr.  Hardy,  Miss  Butcher." 

The  young  fellow  raised  his  hat  again  and 
bowed.  He  was  a  pleasant-faced  young  man  in 
round  straw  hat  and  short  coat.  Mary  paid  no 
further  attention  to  him. 

"  I  've  got  you  a  room  right  next  to  mine," 

185 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

she  said  to  Rose,  who  was  holding  to  the  seat 
with  one  hand  and  clinging  to  her  hat  with  the 
other.  The  car  stopped  and  started  with  vicious 
suddenness. 

"  You  'd  better  hang  on;  the  gripman  is  mad 
tonight,"  Mary  explained.  "  We  're  most  to  our 
street,  anyway." 

To  Rose  it  was  all  a  wild  ride.  The  noise, 
the  leaping  motion  of  the  cars  and  the  perilous 
passage  of  drays  made  it  as  pleasant  to  her  as  a 
ride  behind  a  running  team  on  a  corduroy  road. 

They  came  at  last  to  quieter  spaces,  and 
alighted  finally  at  a  cross  street. 

"  I  'm  pretty  far  up,"  said  Mary,  "but  I  want 
it  decently  quiet  where  I  live.  I  have  noise 
enough  at  the  office." 

Rose  thought  it  indecently  noisy.  Peddlers 
were  crying  out  strange  sing-song  cries ;  children 
romped,  screaming  in  high-pitched  furious 
voices ;  laundry  wagons  and  vegetable  wagons 
clattered  about.  There  was  a  curious  pungent 
odor  in  the  air. 

On  the  steps  of  the  houses  groups  of  young 
people,  like  Mary  and  John,  sat  on  strips  of 
carpet,  and  laughed  and  commented  on  the 
passers-by.  Mary  turned  upon  one  fool  who 
called  a  smart  word  at  her  : 

"  Left  your  manners  in  Squashville,  did  n't 
you,  little  man  ?" 

They  came  at  last  to  an  imposing  block  of 
186 


CHICAGO 

houses,  situated  at  the  corner.  They  entered 
the  door  and  climbed  a  gas-lit  stairway,  which 
went  round  and  round  a  sort  of  square  well. 
They  came  at  last  to  a  door  which  closed  all 
passage,  and  Mary  got  out  her  key  and  opened 
it. 

"  Here  we  are! "  she  said  cheerily. 

The  main  hall  was  carpeted  and  ran  past 
several  doors,  which  were  open.  In  one  room  a 
young  man  in  his  shirt  sleeves  was  shaving  before 
a  glass.  In  another  a  girl  was  reading. 

"Hello!"  called  Mary. 

"  Hello!"  said  the  girl,  without  looking  up. 

"  Here's  my  room,  and  this 's  yours."  Mary 
pushed  open  a  door  at  the  end  of  the  hall.  It 
was  a  small  room,  papered  in  light  buff  and 
blue.  It  had  an  oak  dresser  and  mirror,  a  couple 
of  chairs  and  a  mantel  bed.  It  looked  cheerful 
and  clean,  but  very  small.  Mary  put  down  her 
valise. 

"  I  guess  you  '11  find  everything  all  right, 
water  and  towels.  Wash  up  right  off  —  dinner  '11 
be  ready  soon." 

Rose  removed  her  hat  and  sat  down,  her 
head  throbbing  with  the  heat  and  noise.  She 
heard  the  man  at  the  glass  whistling,  and  Mary 
was  thumping  about  in  her  vigorous  way. 

The  dash  of  cold  water  cleared  her  brain,  but 
did  not   remove    her  headache.     Her  face  was 
still  flushed  and  her  eyes  expanded. 
187 


ROSE  OF  DUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

Mary  coming  back,  looked  at  her  a  moment 
and  then  rushed  upon  her  and  hugged  her. 

"  O  what  a  beauty  you  are  !  I  wish  I  had 
half  what  you  've  got." 

Rose  smiled  faintly;  she  didn't  care  just  that 
moment  whether  she  looked  well  or  ill. 

"  The  boys  will  all  be  dead  in  love  with  you 
before  dinner  is  over.  Let  me  tell  you  about 
them."  She  softened  her  reed-like  voice  down 
and  glanced  at  the  transom  furtively  :  "  Never 
forget  the  transom  when  you  're  talking  se 
crets,"  she  explained. 

"  First,  there 's  Mr.  Taylor;  he 's  from  Colorado 
somewhere.  He 's  a  lawyer.  He 's  a  fine  fellow 
too — you  '11  like  him.  Then  there  's  Mr.  Simons; 
he 's  a  Jew,  but  he 's  not  too  much  of  a  Jew. 
There 's  Alice  Fletcher;  she 's  queer  and  grumpy, 
but  she  reads  a  lot  and  she  can  talk  when  she 
wants  to,  and  there 's  you  and  myself." 

"  I  don't  feel  like  meeting  them  tonight," 
Rose  said  ;  "  if  I  had  a  cup  of  tea  I  'd  stay  in 
my  room." 

"All  right!  I '11  bring  it." 

The  bell  rang  and  then  the  movement  of  feet 
and  the  banging  of  doors  told  of  the  rush  to 
dinner. 

Mary  came  back  with  a  cup  of  tea  and  a 
biscuit  and  some  pudding. 

"  Have  more,  if  you  wish,"  she  said. 


188 


CHICAGO 

"  This  will  do  nicely.  You  're  very  kind, 
Mary  Compton.  I  don  't  deserve  it." 

"You  deserve  the  world,"  cried  the  adoring 
girl.  "  If  I  had  your  figure  and  complexion  I  'd 
make  the  universe  wait  on  me." 

In  spite  of  all  this  fervor  of  praise  Rose  felt 
herself  to  be  a  very  dejected  and  spiritless 
beauty.  She  was  irritated  and  angry  with  the 
nagging  of  strange  sights  and  sounds  and 
smells.  The  air  seemed  laden  with  disease  and 
filth.  It  was  all  so  far  from  the  coolly  with  its 
purple  hills  looming  against  the  sapphire  sun-set 
sky. 

But  this  she  came  for  —  to  see  the  city ;  to 
plunge  into  its  life.  She  roused  herself  there 
fore  with  a  blush  of  shame  at  her  weakness. 
She  had  appeared  to  be  a  child  before  this  girl 
who  had  always  been  her  inferior  at  school. 

It  was  a  very  dignified  young  woman  who 
arose  to  greet  Mrs.  Wilcox,  the  landlady,  whom 
Mary  brought  back.  This  dignity  was  not 
needed.  Mrs.  Wilcox  was  a  sweet-voiced,  smil 
ing  woman  of  fifty  —  being  of  those  toilers  who 
smile  when  they  are  tired  enough  to  drop.  She 
was  flushed  with  fatigue  and  moved  languidly, 
but  her  kind,  patient,  pathetic  smile  touched 
Rose  almost  to  tears. 

"  I  'm  glad  to  have  you  come  here,"  the  land 
lady  said.  "  We  're  all  nice  people  here,  are  n't 


189 


ROSE  OF  DUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

we,  Miss  Compton  ?  "     Her  eyes  twinkled  with 
humorous  self-analysis. 

"  Every  one  of  us,"  corroborated  Mary. 

"  I  hope  you  '11  rest  well.  If  there 's  anything 
we  can  do  for  you,  my  dear,  let  me  know." 
Such  was  the  spirit  in  which  the  over-worked 
woman  served  her  boarders.  They  all  called 
her  "  mother."  She  had.  no  children  of  her 
own,  and  her  husband  was  "not  at  all  well,"  yet 
nothing  could  sour  her  sweet  kindliness,  which 
included  all  the  world.  She  was  a  familiar  type, 
and  Rose  loved  her  at  once. 

Miss  Fletcher  came  in  and  was  introduced. 
She  was  a  teacher  in  a  school  near  by. 

"What  anybody  should  come  to  this  town 
for  I  can  't  understand.  I  stay  here  because  I  'm 
obliged  to.  I  'm  just  back  from  the  country  to 
my  work." 

"The  country  is  all  right  for  a  vacation," 
quoted  Rose. 

Mary  broke  in,  "  That 's  what  I  say.  I  lived 
on  a  farm  and  I  lived  in  Castle  Rock.  When  I 
lived  on  the  farm  I  wanted  to  get  to  Castle 
Rock.  When  I  got  to  Castle  Rock  I  wanted  to 
get  to  Madison.  Madison  made  me  hone  for 
Chicago,  and  when  I  had  a  chance  to  come,  I 
just  dropped  my  work  at  the  University  and  put 
for  the  city,  and  here  I  am  and  glad  of  it." 

"  I  can  't  understand  such  folly,"  murmured 
Miss  Fletcher. 

190 


CHICAGO 

"  You  could  if  you  'd  stayed  on  the  farm  the 
year  round,  with  nobody  to  talk  to  and  mighty 
little  to  read.  It 's  all  right  for  you  to  go  up  for 
a  couple  of  months  and  lie  about  in  a  hammock, 
but  you  take  a  place  like  Castle  Rock  all  the 
year  round  !  It 's  worse  than  the  farm.  Gossip  ! 
They  talk  every  rag  of  news  to  smithereens, 
don't  they,  Rose?" 

Rose  nodded. 

"  And  then  the  people  !    They're  the  cullin's. 
All  the  bright  boys  and  girls  go  to  Madison  and 
Chicago  or  Dakota,  and  then  the  rest  marry  and 
intermarry,  and  have    idiot   boys  and    freckle- 
faced  girls  ! " 

They  all  laughed.  Mary  was  always  extreme, 
no  matter  what  her  subject. 

Miss  Fletcher  sighed  resignedly. 

"  Well,  it 's  fate.  Here  this  big  city  sits  and 
swallows  you  bright  people  like  a  great  dragon, 
and  the  old  folks  are  left  alone  in  these  dull  places 
you  talk  about." 

Rose  felt  her  eyes  filling  with  tears.  The 
figure  of  her  lonely  old  father  came  before  her. 
She  saw  him  sitting  beside  the  kitchen  table,  his 
head  on  his  palm,  and  all  the  new  house  empty 
and  dark. 

Mary  jumped  up.  "  Here  now,  stop  that 
talk,  we  must  leave  Rose  alone  and  let  her  go  to 
sleep." 

They  left  her  alone,  but  sleep  was  impossible. 
191 


ROSE   OF   BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

The  tramp  of  feet,  the  sound  of  pianos,  the  slam 
of  doors,  the  singing,  laughing  of  the  other 
boarders  made  sleep  impossible.  The  cars  jangled 
by,  the  click-clack  of  horses'  hoofs  and  the  swift 
rattle  of  wagons  kept  up  long  after  the  house 
was  silent.  Between  midnight  and  four  o'clock 
she  got  a  little  sleep,  out  of  which  she  awoke 
while  a  booming,  clattering  wagon  thundered  by. 
Other  wagons  clattered  viciously  along  up  the 
alleys,  and  then  some  early  riser  below  began  to 
sing,  and  Rose  wearily  dressed  and  sat  down  by 
the  window  to  listen. 

Far  to  the  south  a  low,  intermittent,  yet  ever 
deepening,  crescendo  bass  note  began  to  sound. 
It  was  Chicago  waking  from  the  three  hours' 
doze,  which  is  its  only  sleep.  It  grew  to  a  rau 
cous,  hot  roar  ;  and  then  to  the  north  she  heard 
the  clear  musical  cry  of  a  fruit  vendor, — then 
another :  "  Black-berries !  Fine  fresh  black 
berries!" 

The  cars  thickened,  the  sun  grew  hot  and  lay 
in  squares  of  blinding  light  across  her  carpet. 
That  curious  pungent  smell  came  in  with  the 
wind.  Newsboys  cried  their  morning  papers. 
Children  fought  and  played  in  the  street.  Dis 
tant  whistles  began  to  sound,  and  her  first  morn 
ing  in  Chicago  came  to  Rose,  hot,  brazen, 
unnatural,  and  found  her  blinded,  bruised,  dis 
couraged,  abased,  homesick. 


192 


CHAPTER   XVI 

HER  FIRST  CONQUEST 

She  was  still  sitting  by  the  window  wondering 
what  to  do  next,  when  Mary  tapped  at  her  door. 

"May  I  come  in?  " 

She  looked  fresh  and  strong,  and  her  cheery 
smile  made  her  seem  beautiful  to  Rose. 

"  How  did  you  sleep?  " 

Rose  shook  her  head.     Mary  laughed. 

"  I  can  tell  by  the  looks  of  you.  Look  's  if 
you  'd  been  pulled  through  a  knot-hole,  as  they 
say  up  in  Molasses  Gap.  Heard  everything  that 
took  place,  did  n't  you?  I  did  too.  You  '11  get 
over  that.  I  sleep  like  a  top  now."  • 

"  What  is  that  smell?  Pah! "  shuddered  Rose. 

Mary  elevated  her  freckled  nose.  "What 
smell?  O,  you  mean  that  rotten,  piney,  turpen- 
tiney  smell — that  's  the  Chicago  smell.  It 
comes  from  the  pavin'  blocks,  I  guess.  I  never 
inquired.  1  '11  ask  Mr.  Reed,  he  knows  every 
thing  mean  about  Chicago.  Well,  you  had  n't 
better  go  to  breakfast  looking  like  that.  I  want 
you  to  paralyze  that  Boston  snipe.  I  '11  bring  in 
your  breakfast." 

Rose  accepted  this  service  passively ;  nothing 

193 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

else  was  to  be  done  in  Mary  Compton's  pres 
ence.  She  had  the  energy  of  a  steam  threshing 
machine,  and  affection  to  correspond. 

Rose  wondered  again  what  she  could  do 
next.  She  was  here  to  study  art  and  literature 
— there  was  the  library!  She  would  read.  And 
there  were  lectures  perhaps  ;  what  she  was  to  do 
would  come  to  her  after  awhile. 

Mary  returned  a  little  hot  of  color,  bringing 
a  tray. 

"  That  Boston  clothes-pin  says  you  're  a  myth 
or  a  country  gawk.  You  must  lay  him  out  cold 
as  a  handspike.  I  've  been  bragging  about  you 
and  they  were  all  on  tip-toe  to  see  you  this 
morning.  You  sail  in  on  'em  at  dinner  the  way 
you  used  to  do  at  our  chapter -house  spreads. 
Were  n't  they  great!  There  now,  I  've  got  to 
vamoose.  I'm  not  a  lady  of  leisure.  I 'm  a 
t  typewriter  on  trial  and  looks  won't  carry  me 
through.  I  Ve  got  to  rustle  and  walk  chalk,  as 
they  say  in  Molasses  Gap.  So  good-bye.  Take 
it  easy  to-day.  If  you  want  to  walk,  go  over  to 
the  lake  front,"  and  she  banged  out  of  the  door 
and  faced  the  city  in  her  daily  encounter. 

Rose  ate  her  breakfast  and  felt  much  better. 
Her  trunk  came  and  she  got  out  her  dresses  and 
hung  them  up  and  made  other  preparations  for 
staying,  although  it  seemed  impossible  she 
should  ever  sleep  another  night  in  this  terrible 
city. 

194 


HER  FIRST  CONQUEST 

She  got  out  her  portfolio  and  wrote  a  letter 
home  and  one  also  to  Dr.  Thatcher.  Then  she 
looked  over  the  little  bunch  of  letters  of  intro 
duction  she  had.  One  was  to  Doctor  Isabel 
Herrick,  one  to  Professor  H.  Bevan  Fowler  at 
Evanston,  and  one  was  to  Orrin  Thatcher ;  that 
was  the  Doctor's  cousin,  a  young  lawyer  in  the 
Woman's  building,  whatever  that  was.  With 
these  and  ten  dollars  a  week  she  faced  Chicago. 
The  contest  was  unequal. 

She  felt  this  more  keenly  as  she  stood  on  the 
lake  front  a  little  later  on  in  the  day.  She  went 
there  as  the  New  Hampshire  girl  goes  to  the  sea. 
This  body  of  water,  majestic  in  its  immense 
shoreless  spread,  is  wonderful  to  the  young  girl 
from  Iowa  or  interior  Wisconsin. 

A  fresh,  keen  east  wind  had  arisen,  pure  and 
exhilarating,  and  the  smooth  expanse  of  glitter 
ing  green-and-blue  water  stretched  out  under  a 
vivid  blue  sky,  in  which  great  clouds  floated  like 
snow  mountains,  trailing  great  shadows  like 
robes  of  state  upon  the  lake. 

The  curving  lake-wall  was  wet  and  glistening 
with  the  up-flung  spray.  The  slender  elms  were 
fronded  at  the  top  like  palms,  and  the  vivid 
green  grass  set  opposite  the  pink-gray  wall,  and 
the  brilliant  many-colored  lake  in  magnificent, 
harmonious  contrast.  The  girl  felt  her  soul 
grow  larger  as  she  faced  this  scene,  so  strange,  so 


195 


ROSE  OF  DUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

oriental,  and  she  looked  and  looked,  until  it  be 
came  a  part  of  her. 

It  was  all  so  remote  and  so  splendid.  There 
the  great  violet-shadowed  sails  of  ships  stood,  as 
she  had  seen  them  in  pictures  of  the  sea.  There 
a  gleaming  steamer  ran,  trailing  great  banners  of 
smoke.  There  glittered  the  white  bodies  and  slant 
wings  of  gulls,  dipping,  upshooting  and  whirling. 
To  her  eyes  this  was  infinity,  and  the  purple 
mist  in  which  the  ships  drave  was  ultimate 
mystery. 

At  last  she  turned  to  look  behind  her.  There 
on  the  left  stood  rows  of  immense  houses,  barred 
and  grated  like  jails  or  fortresses;  palaces  where 
lived  the  mighty  ones  of  Chicago  commerce.  Be 
fore  their  doors  carriages  stood,  with  attendants 
in  livery,  such  as  she  had  read  about  and  had 
never  seen.  Up  and  down  the  curving  ribbon 
of  lavender  sand  other  carriages  were  driving, 
with  jingle  of  silver  chains  and  soft  roll  of 
wheels.  The  horses  flung  foam  from  their  bits  ; 
they  were  magnificent  horses  (she  knew  horses 
as  well  as  any  coachman),  and  their  brass- 
trimmed  harnesses  glittered  in  the  sun  like 
burnished  gold. 

There  was  no  noise  here  beyond  the  tread  of 
these  stately  horses,  the  babble  of  a  few  soft- 
voiced  children  on  the  grass  and  the  crackling, 
infrequent  splash  of  the  leaping  breakers.  It 
was  a  wide  contrast  to  the  Chicago  of  her  first 
196 


HER  FIRST  CONQUEST 

glimpses  the  day  before.  That  side  of  the  city 
terrified  her,  this  oppressed  and  awed  her.  The 
social  splendor  of  this  life  appealed  to  her  per 
ception  as  it  would  not  to  any  man.  Her  quick 
imagination  peopled  these  mansions  with  beauti 
ful  women  and  lordly  men,  and  she  felt  herself 
rightful  claimant  of  a  place  among  them. 

She  turned  and  faced  them  with  set  teeth  and 
a  singular  look  in  her  half-closed  eyes,  and  in 
her  heart  she  said:  "  Before  I  die  I  '11  go  where 
I  please  in  this  city.  I  '11  be  counted  as  good  as 
any  of  you — poor  as  I  am." 

To  the  onlooker — to  Mrs.  Oliver  Frost,  she 
was  a  girl  in  a  picturesque  attitude ;  to  the 
coachmen  on  the  carriages  she  was  a  possible 
nurse-girl;  to  the  policeman  she  was  a  speck  on 
the  lake- front  lawn. 

*  *  *  * 

Something  of  this  mood  was  with  her  still 
when  she  went  in  to  dinner  with  Mary.  Mary 
ushered  the  way,  beaming  with  joy.  Rose  never 
looked  more  beautiful  nor  more  imperious.  The 
Boston  man  was  properly  astonished;  the  Jew 
salesman  smiled  till  his  chubby  face  seemed  not 
able  to  contain  his  gladness.  Mr.  Taylor,  a 
gaunt  young  man,  alone  seemed  unmoved;  the 
morose  teacher  gave  a  sigh  of  sad  envy. 

Rose  said  little  during  the  meal.  She  cor 
dially  hated  Mr.  Reed  at  once.  His  Boston 
accent  annoyed  her,  and  his  brutal  sarcasm  upon 
197 


ROSE  OF  DUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

the  West  aroused  a  new  anger  in  her.  She  had 
never  listened  to  such  talk  before.  It  did  n't 
seem  possible  anybody  could  disparage  the  West. 

"  Civilization  stops,"  he  said  during  the 
meal,  "  after  you  leave  the  Hudson  riveh." 

"  Some  folks'  manners  stop  after  they  leave 
the  Hudson  river,  if  they  ever  had  any,"  Mary 
replied,  and  the  Jew  cackled  joyously. 

He  defended  Chicago.  "  It  is  the  greatest 
place  to  do  business  in  the  world.  I  'm  a  New 
Yorker  by  birth,  but  Chicago  suits  me.  I  like 
its  hustle." 

"  That 's  the  point.  It  thinks  of  nothing  but 
hustle,"  said  the  Boston  man.  "I  was  speaking 
of  higher  things.  It  lacks  the  art  atmosphere 
of  Boston  and  Cambridge." 

"  It  has  all  the  atmosphere  I  need,"  said  the 
Jew. 

To  Rose  all  this  was  new.  It  had  not  oc 
curred  to  her  to  differentiate  the  cities  sharply 
from  one  another.  Chicago,  to  her,  was  a  great 
city,  a  splendid  example  of  enterprise,  and  it 
was  to  be  her  city,  the  pride  of  the  West.  To 
the  country  mind  a  city  is  a  great  city  when  it 
acquires  a  million  people.  Like  the  young  Jew, 
Rose  had  not  missed  any  atmosphere.  The  tall 
young  man  voiced  her  opinion  when  he  said  : 

"  This  finicky  criticism  do  n't  count.  You 
might  just  as  well  talk  about  the  lack  of  gon 
dolas  and  old  palaces  in  Boston.  Conditions 
198 


HER  FIRST  CONQUEST 

here  are  unexampled.  It 's  a  new  town  and  I 
think  a  splendid  place  to  live.  Of  course  you 
can  find  fault  anywhere." 

Rose  looked  at  him  with  interest.  Such  pre 
cision  and  unhesitancy  of  speech  she  had  not 
heard  since  leaving  college. 

Mary  glowed  with  gratified  admiration.  The 
Jew  was  delighted,  although  he  did  not  quite  fol 
low  the  implied  rebuke.  Miss  Fletcher  merely 
said  : 

"  If  Mr.  Reed  do  n't  like  Chicago  he  is  privi 
leged  to  go  back  to  Boston.  I  do  n't  think  Chi 
cago  would  experience  any  shock  if  he  did." 

Mr.  Reed  wilted  a  little,  but  he  was  not 
crushed. 

"  The  trouble  with  you  people  is  you  do  n't 
know  anything  about  any  other  city.  You  come 
in  here  from  Oshkosh  and  Kalamazoo,  and  Oko- 
okono — 

"Hit  him  on  the  back!"  called  Mary,  "he's 
choking." 

"  O-con-o-mo-woc,"  calmly  interpreted  Miss 
Fletcher. 

Reed  recovered  —  "And  a  lot  more  outland 
ish  places — 

"  How  about  Squanturn  and  Skowhegan  and 
Passamaquoddy,"  laughed  Mary. 

Reed  collapsed  — "  O  well,  those  are  old, 
familiar — ' 

The  others  shouted  with  laughter. 
199 


ROSE   OF   DUTCHER'S   COOLLY 

"  O  yes  !  Everything  old  and  New  England 
goes.  You  are  too  provincial,  old  boy.  You 
want  to  broaden  out.  I  've  seen  a  lot  of  fellows 
like  you  come  here,  snapping  and  snarling  at 
Chicago,  and  end  up  by  being  wild  promoters." 
The  Jew  was  at  the  bat,  and  the  table  applauded 
every  hit. 

Rose  did  not  share  in  the  talk  —  she  had  so 
little  knowledge  of  cities  —  but  it  served  to 
make  Mr.  Taylor  a  strong  figure  in  her  eyes. 
He  was  tall  and  big-boned  and  unsmiling.  He 
studied  her  with  absent-minded  interest,  and  she 
felt  no  irritation  or  embarrassment,  for  his  eyes 
were  clean  and  thoughtful.  He  looked  at  her  as 
if  she  called  up  memories  of  some  one  he  had 
loved  in  another  world,  and  she  somehow  grew 
a  little  sad  under  his  gaze. 

As  they  sat  in  her  room  after  dinner,  Mary 
asked  : 

"  How  do  you  like  our  crowd  ?  " 

"  I  can  't  tell  yet.  I  don  't  like  that  Boston 
man.  I  never  could  bear  the  sound  of  'ah' ." 

"He's  a  chump  ;  but  they  ain't  all  like  that. 
I  have  met  two  or  three  decent  Boston  fellows 
down  in  the  office.  Don't  think  they  are  all 
muffs." 

"  Of  course  not." 

"Now  take  my  'boss'  for  example.     He's 
fine.     He 's  big  enough  so  you  don  't  mind  his 
airs,  but  what  do  you  think  of  Mr.  Taylor  ?" 
200 


HER   FIRST   CONQUEST 

Rose  looked  thoughtful,  and  Mary  hastened 
to  say. 

"  Ain't  he  fine  ?  "  She  hoped  to  forestall 
criticism. 

"  Yes,  I  think  he 's  fine.  He  makes  me  think 
of  Professor  Jenks." 

"  A-hugh  !  so  he  does  me.  Say  Rose,  I  'm 
going  to  tell  you  something,  do  n't  you  ever 
tell,  will  you  ?" 

"Why  no  —  of  course  not." 

"  Hope  to  die  ?  " 

"  Hope  to  die,  hands  crossed." 

"Well!" 

"Well?" 

"  I  came  here  to  board  because  he  was  here." 

"  Why,  Mary  Compton  !  " 

"  Ain't  it  awful?  Of  course,  no  one  knows  it 
but  you.  I  'd  just  die  if  he  knew  it.  I  used  to 
be  afraid  that  he  'd  find  out,  but  he  can  't,  be 
cause  you  see,  he  never  saw  me  till  I  came  here, 
and  he  thinks  it  is  just  accident.  He 's  so  sim 
ple  about  such  things  anyway,  and  he 's  always 
dreaming  of  something  away  off.  O  he 's  won 
derful  !  He 's  been  all  over  the  mountains.  He 
adores  John  Muir  —  you  know  that  man  Profes 
sor  Ellis  told  us  about?  Well,  he's  lived  just 
that  way  weeks  and  weeks  in  the  wildest  moun 
tains,  and  it's  just  glorious  to  hear  him  tell  about 
it." 

Rose  was  astonished  at  Mary,  generally  so 
201 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

self-contained.  She  talked  as  if  she  had  vol 
umes  to  tell  and  but  short  minutes  to  tell  them 
in.  Her  cheeks  glowed  and  her  eyes  grew  deep 
and  dark. 

"  He 's  here  reading  law,  but  he  do  n't  need 
to  work.  He 's  got  a  share  in  a  big  mine  out 
there  somewhere,  which  he  discovered  himself. 
He  just  thought  he'd  try  civilization  awhile,  he 
said,  and  so  he  came  to  Chicago.  He  kind  o' 
pokes  around  the  law  school  (it 's  in  our  build 
ing —  that's  where  I  saw  him  first,  in  the  eleva 
tor),  just  as  an  excuse.  He  hates  the  law;  he 
told  me  so.  He  comes  in  to  see  me  sometimes. 
Of  course  I  leave  the  door  open."  She  smiled. 
"  But  it  do  n't  make  any  difference  to  him.  He 's 
just  the  same  here  as  he  is  anywhere  —  I  mean 
he  knows  how  to  treat  a  woman.  The  school- 
ma'am  said  she  thought  it  was  terrible  to  have 
a  man  come  into  your  room  —  the  same  room 
you  sleep  in  —  but  I  told  her  it  depended  on 
the  man.  That  settled  her,  for  Owen  —  I  mean 
Mr.  Taylor  —  don't  like  her." 

Rose  listened  in  silence  to  this  torrent  of 
words  from  Mary.  Her  mind  was  naturally  fic- 
tive,  and  she  divined  the  immense  world  sug 
gested  by  the  girl's  incoherent  sentences.  The 
mysterious  had  come  to  her  friend  —  the  "one 
man  of  all  the  world,"  apparently — a  striking 
personality,  quite  suited  to  Mary,  with  her  prac 
tical  ways  and  love  of  fun.  It  confirmed  her  in 
202 


HER  FIRST  CONQUEST 

her  conviction  that  a  girl  must  adventure  into 
the  city  to  win  a  place  and  a  husband. 

She  rose  and  put  her  arms  about  her  friend's 
neck  : 

"I'm  so  glad,  Mary." 

"  O  goodness  !  do  n't  congratulate  me.  He 's 
never  said  a  word  —  and  maybe  he  won't.  I 
can't  understand  him  —  anyway  it 's  great  fun." 

A  slow  step  crossed  the  hall,  and  a  rap  at  the 
door  nearly  took  away  Mary's  breath;  for  a  mo 
ment  she  could  not  reply,  then  Mr.  Taylor's 
voice  was  heard. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon."  He  was  turning 
away  when  Mary  sprang  up  and  opened  the 
door. 

"  O  Mr.  Taylor,  is  it  you  ?" 

"  Yes  —  I  did  n't  know  but  you  and  your 
friend  would  like  to  go  out  somewhere  ?  " 

"  Would  you,  Rose  ?  " 

"  Not  to-night,  thank  you.  But  you  go. 
Don't  keep  in  on  my  account." 

Mary  struggled  a  moment,  then  she  smiled 
with  tender  archness. 

"  Very  well,  thank  you,  Mr.  Taylor.  I  '11  be 
ready  soon."  After  he  had  gone  she  said  : 

"  Perhaps  he  '11  propose  !  " 

Rose  glowed  sympathetically.  "  I  hope  he 
will." 

****** 

The  next  day  Rose  went  down  town  alone. 
203 


ROSE   OF   BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

The  wind  had  veered  to  the  south,  the  dust  blew, 
and  the  whole  terrifying  panorama  of  life  in  the 
streets  seemed  some  way  blurred  together,  and 
forms  of  men  and  animals  were  like  figures  in 
tapestry.  The  grind  and  clang  and  clatter  and 
hiss  and  howl  of  the  traffic  was  all  about  her. 

She  came  upon  the  river  just  as  the  bridge  was 
being  opened.  Down  toward  the  lake,  which 
had  to  her  all  the  wonder  and  expanse  of  the 
sea,  boats  lay  thickly,  steamers  from  deep  water, 
long,  narrow  and  black.  Excursion  boats,  gleam 
ing  white,  and  trimmed  with  shining  brass,  lay 
beside  the  wharves,  and  low-lying  tugs,  sturdy, 
rowdyish  little  things,  passed  by,  floating  like 
ducks  and  pulling  like  bull-dogs,  guiding  great 
two-masted  sailing  boats  and  long,  low,  grimy 
steamers,  with  high  decks  at  the  ends.  The 
river  ran  below,  gray-green,  covered  with  float 
ing  refuse.  Mountainous  buildings  stood  on 
either  side  of  the  waterway. 

The  draw,  as  it  began  to  move,  made  a  noise 
precisely  like  an  old  fashioned  threshing  ma 
chine —  a  rising  howl,  which  went  to  her  heart 
like  a  familiar  voice.  Her  eyes  for  a  moment 
released  hold  upon  the  scene  before  her,  and 
took  a  slant  far  over  the  town  to  the  coule"  farm, 
and  the  days  when  the  threshing  machine 
howled  and  rattled  in  the  yard  came  back,  and 
she  was  rushing  to  get  dinner  ready  for  the  crew. 

When  the  bridge  returned  to  its  place  she 
204 


HER  FIRST  CONQUEST 

walked  slowly  across,  studying  each  vista.  To 
the  west,  other  bridges,  swarming  with  people, 
arched  the  stream  —  on  each  side  was  equal 
mystery.  These  wonderful  great  boats  and  their 
grim  brave  sailors  she  had  read  about,  but  had 
never  seen.  They  came  from  far  up  the  great 
tumultuous  lake,  and  they  were  going  to  anchor 
somewhere  in  that  wild  tangle  of  masts  and 
chimneys  and  towering  big  buildings  to  the 
west.  They  looked  as  if  they  might  go  to  the 
ends  of  the  earth.  At  the  stern  of  an  out-going 
boat  four  sailors  were  pulling  at  a  rope,  the 
leader  singing  a  wild,  thrilling  song  in  time  to 
the  action. 

So  it  was — the  wonderful  and  the  terrifying 
appealed  to  her  mind  first.  In  all  the  city  she 
saw  the  huge  and  the  fierce.  She  perceived 
only  contrasts.  She  saw  the  ragged  newsboy 
and  the  towering  policeman.  She  saw  the  rag 
pickers,  the  street  vermin,  with  a  shudder  of 
pity  and  horror,  and  she  saw  also  the  gorgeous 
show  windows  of  the  great  stores.  She  saw  the 
beautiful  new  gowns  and  hats,  and  she  saw  also 
the  curious  dress  of  swart  Italian  girls  scaveng 
ing  with  baskets  on  their  arms.  Their  faces 
were  old  and  grimy,  their  voices  sounded  like 
the  chattered  colloquies  of  monkeys  in  the 
circus. 

«     It  all  seemed  a  battlefield.      There  was  no 

hint  of  repose  or  home  in  it  all.     People  were 

205 


ROSE  OF  DUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

just  staying  here  like  herself,  trying  to  get  work, 
trying  to  make  a  living,  trying  to  make  a  name. 
They  had  left  their  homes  as  she  had,  and 
though  she  conceived  of  them  as  having  a  foot 
hold  she  could  not  imagine  them  having  reached 
security.  The  home-life  of  the  city  had  not  re 
vealed  itself  to  her. 

She  made  her  way  about  the  first  few  blocks 
below  Water  street,  looking  for  Dr.  Herrick's 
address.  It  was  ten  o'clock,  and  the  streets  were 
in  a  frenzy  of  exchange.  The  sidewalks  were 
brooks,  the  streets  rivers  of  life  which  curled 
into  doors  and  swirled  around  mountainous 
buildings. 

It  was  almost  pathetic  to  see  how  helpless  she 
seemed  in  the  midst  of  these  alien  sounds.  It 
took  away  from  her  the  calm,  almost  scornful, 
self-reliance  which  characterized  her  in  familiar 
surroundings.  Her  senses  were  as  acute  as  a 
hare's  and  sluiced  in  upon  her  a  bewildering 
flood  of  sights  and  sounds.  She  did  not  appear 
childish,  but  she  seemed  slow  and  stupid,  which 
of  course  she  was  not.  She  thought  and  thought 
till  she  grew  sick  with  thought.  She  struggled 
to  digest  all  that  came  to  her,  but  it  was  like 
trampling  sand;  she  apparently  gained  nothing 
by  her  toil. 

The  streets  led  away  into  thunderous  tunnels, 
beyond  which  some  other  strange  hell  of  sound 
and  stir  imaginatively  lay.  The  brutal  voices  of 
206 


HER  FIRST  CONQUEST 

drivers  of  cabs  and  drays  assaulted  her.  The 
clang  of  gongs  drew  her  attention,  now  here,  now 
there,  and  her  anxiety  to  understand  each  sound 
and  to  appear  calm  added  to  her  confusion. 

She  heard  crashes  and  yells  that  were  of 
murder  and  sudden  death.  It  was  the  crash  of 
a  falling  bundle  of  sheet  iron,  but  she  knew  not 
that.  She  looked  around  thinking  to  see  some 
savage  battle  scene. 

She  saw  women  with  painted  faces  and 
bleached  hair  whom  she  took  to  be  those  mys 
terious  and  appalling  women  who  sell  them 
selves  to  men.  They  were  in  fact  simple- 
minded  shop  girls  or  vulgar  little  housewives 
with  sad  lack  of  taste. 

Every  street  she  crossed,  she  studied,  looking 
both  up  and  down  it,  in  the  effort  to  see  some 
end  of  its  mystery.  They  all  vanished  in  lurid, 
desolate  distance,  save  toward  the  lake.  Out 
there  she  knew,  the  water  lay  serene  and  blue. 
•  This  walk  was  to  her  like  entrance  into  war. 
It  thrilled  and  engaged  her  at  every  turn.  She 
was  in  the  center  of  human  life.  To  win  here 
*was  to  win  all  she  cared  to  have. 

It  was  a  relief  to  pass  into  the  rotunda  of  the 
splendid  building  in  which  Dr.  Herrick's  office 
was.  Outside  the  war  sounded,  and  around  her 
men  hastened.  She  entered  the  elevator  as  one 
in  a  dream.  The  man  hustled  her  through 
the  door  without  ceremony  and  clanged  the  door 
207 


ROSE  OF  DUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

as  if  it  were  a  prison  gate.  They  soared  to 
the  ninth  floor  like  a  balloon  suddenly  liberated, 
and  the  attendant  fairly  pushed  her  out. 

"  Here  's  your  floor  —  Herrick,  to  the  left." 

Rose  was  humiliated  and  indignant,  but  sub 
mitted.  The  hallway  along  which  she  moved 
was  marble  and  specklessly  clean.  On  each  side 
doors  of  glass  with  letters  in  black  told  of  the 
occupations  of  the  tenants. 

She  came  at  length  to  the  half-open  door  of 
Dr.  Herrick's  office  and  timidly  entered.  A 
young  girl  came  forward  courteously. 

"Would  you  like  to  see  the  Doctor?"  she 
asked  in  a  soft  voice. 

"  Yes,  please.  I  have  a  letter  to  her  from  Dr. 
Thatcher  of  Madison." 

"O!  well,  I  will  take  it  right  in.  Be  seated, 
please." 

This  seemed  good  treatment,  and  the  soft 
voice  of  the  girl  was  very  grateful  after  the 
hoarse  war-cries  of  the  street.  Rose  looked* 
around  the  little  room  with  growing  composure 
and  delight.  It  was  such  a  dainty  little  waiting 
room,  and  argued  something  attractive  in  Dr. 
Herrick. 

"  Come  right  in,"  the  girl  said  on  returning. 
"The  Doctor  is  attending  to  her  mail,  but  she 
will  see  you  for  a  few  moments." 

Rose  entered  the  second  and   larger  room, 
and   faced   a   small   graceful  woman,  of  keen, 
208 


HER  FIRST  CONQUEST 

alert  gaze.  She  appeared  to  be  about  thirty- 
five  years  of  age.  She  shook  hands  briskly, 
but  not  warmly. 

Her  hand  was  small  and  firm  and  her  tone 
quick  and  decisive.  "How-d'-you-do!  Sit  down! 
I  had  a  note  from  Dr.  Thatcher  the  other  day 
saying  I  might  expect  you." 

Rose  took  a  chair  while  the  Doctor  studied 
her,  sitting  meanwhile  with  small  graceful  head 
leaning  on  one  palm,  her  elbow  on  the  corner  of 
her  desk.  No  woman's  eyes  ever  searched  Rose 
like  those  of  this  little  woman,  and  she  re 
belled  against  it  inwardly,  as  Dr.  Herrick  curtly 
asked: 

"  Well,  now,  what  can  I  do  for  you  ?  Dr. 
Thatcher  thought  I  could  do  something  for  you." 

Rose  was  too  dazed  to  reply.  This  small, 
resolute,  brusque  woman  was  a  world's  wonder  to 
her.  She  looked  down  and  stammered. 

"I  don't  know  —  I — thought  maybe  you 
could  help  me  to  find  out  what  I  could  do." 

The  Doctor  studied  her  for  an  instant  longer. 
She  saw  a  large,  apparently  inexperienced  girl, 
a  little  sullen  and  a  little  embarrassed  —  proba 
bly  stupid. 

"  Don't  you  know  what  you  want  to  do  ?  " 

"  No  —  that  is,  I  want  to  write,"  confessed 
*Rose. 

"  Write !  My  dear  girl,  every  addlepate 
wants  to  write.  Have  you  friends  in  the  city  ?  " 
209 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

"One;  a  classmate." 

"  Man  ?  " 

"  No,  a  girl." 

"  Why  did  you  leave  home  ?  " 

Rose  began  to  grow  angry.  "Because  I 
could  n't  live  the  life  of  a  cow  or  a  cabbage.  I 
wanted  to  see  the  city." 

The  Doctor  arose.  "  Come  here  a  moment." 
Rose  obeyed  and  stood  beside  her  at  the  win 
dow,  and  they  looked  out  across  a  stretch  of 
roofs,  heaped  and  humped  into  mountainous 
masses,  blurred  and  blent  and  made  appalling 
by  smoke  and  plumes  of  steam.  A  scene  as 
desolate  as  a  burnt-out  volcano  —  a  jumble  of 
hot  bricks,  jagged  eave-spouts,  gas-vomiting 
chimneys,  spiked  railings,  glass  skylights  and 
lofty  spires,  a  hideous  and  horrible  stretch  of 
stone  and  mortar,  cracked  and  seamed  into 
streets.  It  had  no  limits  and  it  palpitated  under 
the  hot  September  sun,  boundless  and  savage. 
At  the  bottom  of  the  crevasses  men  and  women 
speckled  the  pavement  like  minute  larvae. 

"  Is  that  what  you  came  here  to  see  ?  "  asked 
the  Doctor. 

Rose  drew  a  deep  breath  and  faced  her. 

"  Yes,  and  I  'm  not  afraid  of  it.  It's  mighty! 
It  is  grander  than  I  expected  it  to  be — grand 
and  terrible,  but  it 's  where  things  are  done." 

Isabel  Herrick  studied  her  a  little  closer. 

"  You  'd  leave  your  country  home  for  this  ?  " 
210 


HER  FIRST  CONQUEST 

Rose  turned  upon  her  and  towered  above 
her.  Her  eyes  flashed  and  her  abundant  eye 
brows  drew  down  in  a  dark  scowl. 

"  Would  you  be  content  to  spend  your  life, 
day  and  night,  summer  and  winter,  in  Dutcher's 
Coolly?" 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  Dr.  Herrick  cuttingly, 
"  the  problem  is  not  the  same.  I  have  not  the 

same 1 the  question " 

f  "  Yes,  you  who  are  born  in  the  city  and  who 
come  up  to  see  us  on  the  farms  for  a  couple 
of  weeks  in  June — you  take  it  on  yourselves 
to  advise  us  to  stay  there!  You  who  succeed 
are  always  ready  to  discourage  us  when  we  come 
to  try  our  fortunes.  I  can  succeed  just  as  well 
as  you,  and  I  '11  make  you  bow  your  head  to 
me  before  five  years  are  gone." 

Rose  was  magnificent,  masterful.  She  was 
flaming  hot  with  wrath.  This  little  woman  had 
gone  too  far. 

Dr.  Herrick  turned  abruptly. 

"I  guess  I've  made  a  mistake;  sit  down 
again,"  she  said,  in  softer  tones. 

Rose  was  not  yet  done.  She  kept  her  lofty 
pose. 

"  Yes,  you  certainly  have.  I  am  not  afraid  of 
this  city;  I  can  take  care  of  myself.  I  would  n't 
be  under  obligations  to  you  now  for  the  world. 
I  want  you  to  know  I  'm  not  a  beggar  ask 
ing  a  dollar  from  you;  I  'm  not  a  school-girl, 
211 


ROSE  OF  DUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

either.  I  know  what  I  can  do  and  you  do  n't. 
I  would  n't  have  troubled  you,  only  for  Dr. 
Thatcher."  She  moved  toward  the  door, 
gloriously  angry,  too  angry  to  say  good-day. 

The  Doctor's  cold  little  face  lighted  up.  She 
smiled  the  most  radiant  smile,  and  it  made  her 
look  all  at  once  like  a  girl. 

"  My  dear — I  am  crushed.  I  am  an  ant  at 
your  feet.  Come  here  now,  you  great  splendid 
creature,  and  let  me  hug  you  this  minute." 

Rose  kept  on  to  the  door,  where  she  turned: 

"  I  do  n't  think  I  ought  to  trouble  you  fur 
ther,"  she  said  coldly. 

The  Doctor  advanced.  "  Come  now,  I  beg 
your  pardon.  I  'm  knocked  out.  I  took  you 
for  one  of  those  romantic  country  girls,  who 
come  to  the  city — helpless  as  babes.  Come 
back." 

Rose  came  near  going  on.  If  she  had,  it 
would  have  lost  her  a  good  friend.  She  felt 
that  and  so,  when  the  Doctor  put  an  arm  around 
her  to  lead  her  back  to  the  desk,  she  yielded,  but 
she  was  still  palpitating  with  the  heat  of  her  wrath. 

"  My  dear,  you  fairly  scared  me.  I  never 
was  so  taken  by  surprise  in  my  life;  tell  me  all 
about  yourself;  tell  me  how  you  came  to  come, 
where  you  are — and  all  about  it." 

Rose  told  her — not  all,  of  course — she  told 
her  of  her  college  work,   of  her  father,  of  the 
coule",  of  her  parting  from  her  father. 
212 


HER  FIRST  CONQUEST 

-  "  O  yes,"  the  Doctor  interrupted,  "  that 's  the 
%way  we  go  on  —  we  new  men  and  women.  The 
•ways  of  our  fathers  are  not  ours;  it's  tragedy 
^either  way  you  put  it.  Go  on!" 

At  last  she  had  the  story,  told  with  marvelous 
unconscious  power,  direct,  personal,  full  of  ap 
peal.  She  looked  at  Rose  with  reflective  eyes 
for  a  little  space. 

"  Well,  now  we  '11  take  time  to  consider.  Mean 
while  bring  me  something  of  yours;  I  '11  show  it 
to  a  friend  of  mine,  an  editor  here,  and  if  it 
pleases  him  we  '11  know  what  to  do.  Meanwhile, 
come  and  see  me,  and  I  '11  introduce  you  to 
some  nice  people.  Chicago  is  full  of  nice  peo 
ple  if  you  only  come  at  them.  Come  and  see  me  to 
morrow,  can 't  you?  O  you  great,  splendid  crea 
ture  !  I  wish  I  had  your  inches."  She  glowed 
with  admiration. 

"  Come  Sunday  at  six  and  dine  with  me," 
yielding  to  a  sudden  impulse.  "  Come  early  and 
let  me  talk  to  you." 

Rose  promised  and  then  went  out  into  the 
waiting  room. 

"  Etta,  dear,  this  is  Miss  Butcher ;  this  is  my 
sister.  I  want  you  to  know  each  other."  The 
little  girl  tiptoed  up  and  took  Rose's  hand  with 
a  little  inarticulate  murmur. 

There  was  a  patient  waiting,  but  Dr.  Herrick 
ignored  her  and  conducted  Rose  to  the  door. 

"  Good-bye,  dear,  I  'm  glad  you  came.  You  've 

213 


ROSE  OF  DUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

given  me  a  good  shaking  up.     Remember,  six,, 
sharp!" 

She  looked  after  Rose  with  a  wonderful  glow 
in  her  heart. 

"  The  girl  is  a  genius — a  jewel  in  the  rough," 
she  thought.  "  She  must  be  guided.  Heavens ! 
How  she  towered." 

When  she  stepped  into  the  street  Rose  felt ' 
taller  and  stronger,  and  the  street  was  less  ap 
palling.  She  raised  her  eyes  to  the  faces  of  the 
men  she  met.  Her  eyes  had  begun  their  new 
search.  The  men  streamed  by  in  hundreds  ; 
impressive  in  mass,  but  comparatively  uninter 
esting  singly. 

It  was  a  sad  comment  upon   her  changing  | 
conceptions  of  life  that  she  did  not  look  at  the 
poorly  dressed   men,   the  workmen.      She  put* 
them  aside  as  out  of   the  question ;  not  con-  \ 
sciously,  for  the  search  at  this  stage  was  still  un 
conscious,  involuntary,  like  that  of  a  bird  seek-  « 
ing  a  mate,  moved  by  a  law  which  knows  neither  ', 
individuals  nor  time.  ^ 

She  saw  also  the  splendor  of  the  shop  win 
dows.  She  had  a  distinct  love  for  beautiful  fab 
rics  as  works  of  art,  but  she  cared  less  for  dress 
than  one  would  suppose  to  see  her  pass  linger- 
ingly  before  great  luminous  cataracts  of  drapery. 
She  was  quietly  dressed,  and  gracefully  dressed, 
beyond  this  she  had  never  cared  to  go,  but  she 
constructed  wonderful  homes  and  owners  out  of 
214 


HER  FIRST  CONQUEST 

the  glimpses  of  these  windows,  and  from  the 
passing  of  graceful  young  girls,  clothed  like 
duchesses,  and  painted  (some  of  them)  like  wo 
men  of  the  under  world. 

It  all  grew  oppressive  and  disheartening  to 
her  at  last,  and  she  boarded  a  State  street  car 
(the  only  car  she  knew)  and  took  her  way  up 
home.  All  the  people  in  the  car  looked  at  her 
as  if  she  had  intruded  into  a  private  drawing 
room. 

She  was  evidently  from  the  country,  for, 
though  it  was  in  the  day  of  quaintness,  she 
wore  her  hair  plain.  It  was  also  the  middle 
period  of  the  curious  and  inexplicable  little 
swagger  which  all  duly-informed  girls  assumed, 
but  Rose  walked  on  her  strong  elastic  feet  with 
a  powerful  swing  which  was  worth  going  miles 
to  see.  It  was  due  to  her  unconscious  imitation 
of  the  proud  carriage  of  William  De  Lisle.  She 
loved  that  forward  swing  of  the  thigh,  with  the 
flex  of  the  side  which  accompanied  it.  It  was 
her  ideal  of  motion,  that  free  action  of  knee, 
waist  and  neck,  which  she  felt  rather  than  saw  in 
the  great  athlete. 

She  made  a  goodly  figure  to  look  at,  and  it 
was  no  especial  wonder  that  the  people  in  the 
car  faced  her.  Her  forehead  was  prominent  and 
her  eyes  were  sombre.  It  was  impossible  for 
the  casual  observer  to  define  why  she  made  so 
marked  an  impression  upon  him.  It  was  because 

215 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

she  was  so  fresh  and  strong,  and  unaffected  and 
unconscious. 

Pure  men  did  not  smile  at  her  as  they  might 
at  a  pretty  girl.  They  looked  at  her  with  wide, 
quiet  eyes,  and  she  knew  they  meant  to  be  per 
fectly  respectful.  There  was  one  man  looking 
at  her  like  that  when  she  looked  up  to  pay  the 
conductor.  There  was  a  deep  sorrowful  look  in 
his  eyes,  and  his  face,  too,  was  sad. 

She  did  not  understand  his  mood,  but  was 
moved  by  it.  When  she  looked  at  him  again 
he  dropped  his  eyes  to  his  paper.  He  was  a 
large  man  of  thirty  or  more,  and  had  a  rugged, 
serious  face.  She  remembered  it  long  after 
wards. 

At  lunch  she  found  no  one  but  Mr.  Taylor. 
He  loomed  up  at  the  further  end  of  the  table, 
his  gaunt,  grave  face  and  broad  shoulders  tower 
ing  up  like  a  farmer's.  She  studied  him  closely, 
now  that  she  knew  more  about  him.  He  had  a 
big,  wide,  plain  face,  with  gentle  gray  eyes.  His 
beard  was  trimmed  round  and  made  him  look 
older  than  he  was.  He  was  a  man  into  whose 
eyes  women  could  look  unafraid  and  unabashed. 
He  greeted  Rose  with  a  smile. 

"  I  'm  very  glad  you  've  come.  I  was  afraid 
I  should  eat  lunch  alone.  With  your  permission 
I  '11  move  down  to  your  end  of  the  table." 

Rose  was  very  glad  to  have  him  take  a  seat 
near,  and  they  were  friends  at  once.  They 
216 


HER   FIRST  CONQUEST 

naturally  fell  upon  Mary  as  a  topic.     Mr.  Taylor 
spoke  of  her  quietly  : 

"  Mary's  a  fine  girl,"  he  said.  "  I  do  n't  like 
to  see  her  work.  I  do  n't  like  to  see  any  woman 
do  work  like  that.  I  do  n't  claim  any  right  to 
say  what  women  shall  do  or  not  do,  but  I 
imagine  they  would  n't  go  into  shops  if  they 
were  not,  in  a  way,  forced  into  it." 

Rose  defended  the  right  of  a  girl  to  earn  her 
own  living.  He  hastened  to  explain  further  : 

"  Of  course  a  woman  should  be  free  and  inde 
pendent,  but  is  she  free  when  pressure  forces  her  i 
into  typewriting  or  working  in  a  sweat-shop  ?  " 

Rose  turned  his  thoughts  at  last  by  asking 
about  the  West.  He  expanded  like  flame  at  the 
thought. 

"  Ah  !  the  old  equatorial  wind  is  blowing  to 
day,  and  my  hair  crackles  with  electricity."  He 
smiled  as  he  ran  his  hands  through  his  hair. 
"On  such  days  I  long  for  my  pony  again. 
Sometimes,  when  I  can 't  stand  it  any  longer,  I 
take  a  train  to  some  little  station  and  go  out  and 
lie  flat  down  on  the  grass  on  my  back,  so  that  I 
can  't  see  anything  but  sky;  then  I  can  almost 
imagine  myself  back  again  where  the  lone  old 
peaks  bulge  against  the  sky.  Do  you  know 
John  Muir  and  Joaquin  Miller  ?" 

Rose  shook  her  head.  His  eyes  glowed 
with  enthusiasm. 

"  There  are  two  men  who  know  the  wilder- 
217 


ROSE   OF   DUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

ness.  Your  Thoreau  I  've  read,  but  he  don't 
interest  me  the  way  these  Rocky  Mountain 
fellows  do.  Your  eastern  fellows  do  n't  really 
know  a  wilderness  —  they  're  sort  o'  back  pas 
ture  explorers.  John  isn't  a  bit  theatrical,  he's 
been  there.  He  does  n  't  take  a  train  of  guides  to 
explore  a  glacier,  he  sticks  a  crust  of  bread  in 
his  belt  along  with  a  tin  cup,  and  goes  alone. 
I  've  been  with  John  in  the  Sierras,  and  once  he 
came  over  into  my  range." 

Rose  defended  Emerson  and  Thoreau  as  if 
she  were  the  easterner  this  Colorado  hunter 
considered  her.  As  she  talked  he  fixed  great 
absent-minded  eyes  upon  her,  and  absorbed 
every  line  of  her  face,  every  curve  of  her  lips  — 
every  changing  wave  of  color. 

"I  don't  care  for  the  wilderness  as  you  do. 
What  is  a  bird  compared  to  a  man,  anyway?  I 
like  people.  I  want  to  be  where  dramas  are 
being  played.  Men  make  the  world,  bears 
don't."  She  ended  hotly. 

He  slowly  withdrew  his  gaze. 

"  I  guess  you  're  right."  He  smiled  a  wise 
smile.  "  If  the  wilderness  had  been  everything 
in  the  world,  I  would  n't  be  here.  A  woman  is 
more  than  a  flower.  A  woman  would  make  my 
mountains  a  paradise." 

"  You  have  no  right  to  ask  a  woman  to  go 
vthere  with  you  —  not  to  stay,"  she  added  quickly. 
His  smile  passed. 

218 


HER   FIRST  CONQUEST 

"  You  're  right  again.  Unless  I  could  find  a 
woman  who  loves  the  wilderness  as  I  do." 

"  That  is  out  of  the  question,"  she  replied. 
"No  woman  loves  the  wilderness  —  as  a  home. 
All  women  love  cities  and  streets  and  children." 
She  had  a  young  person's  readiness  to  general 
ize,  and  pitilessly  flung  these  hopeless  truisms  at 
him.  He  arose,  apparently  made  sadder  by 
them.  He  sighed. 

"  But  civilization  carries  such  terrible  suffer 
ing  with  it." 

Rose  went  to  her  room  and  looked  at  her 
other  letters  of  introduction.  Should  she  pre 
sent  them  ?  What  would  be  the  use.  The 
scene  with  Dr.  Herrick  had  not  been  pleasant ; 
true,  it  had  apparently  brought  her  a  friend,  but 
it  was  a  rigorous  experience,  and  she  hardly 
felt  it  worth  while  at  the  moment  to  go  through 
another  such  scene  to  win  another  such  friend. 

She  fell  to  looking  over  her  manuscripts. 
They  were  on  lined  paper,  stitched  together  at 
the  top.  They  were  imitative,  of  course,  and 
leaned  toward  the  Elizabethan  drama,  and 
toward  Tennyson  and  Mrs.  Browning,  so  far  as 
verse- form  went.  There  were  also  essays  which 
she  had  written  at  college,  which  inquired 
mournfully,  who  will  take  the  place  of  the  fallen 
giants,  Bryant,  Longfellow,  Emerson  ?  She  had 
eloquent  studies  of  Hugo  and  valiant  defences 
of  Dickens.  She  reflected  in  her  writing  (nat- 
219 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

urally)  all  the  conventional  positions  in  litera 
ture.  She  stood  upon  the  graves  of  the  dead  as 
if  she  feared  they  might  be  desecrated. 

She  was  a  pupil,  and  as  a  pupil  she  had  con 
sidered  literature  as  something  necessarily  afar 
off,  in  England  or  France,  in  Boston  and  Cam 
bridge,  though  she  had  come  to  think  Chicago 
might  be  a  place  suitable  for  a  humble  begin 
ning,  but  that  it  might  be  the  subject  of  literature 
had  not  occurred  to  her.  She  had  never  known 
a  person  who  had  written  a  book.  Professor 
Ellis  and  the  President  had  written  scientific 
treatises,  but,  not  being  a  fool,  she  knew  there 
was  a  difference  between  getting  an  article  into 
a  country  weekly  and  getting  into  a  big  daily, 
to  say  nothing  of  the  great  magazines.  She 
wished  for  advice.  Being  out  in  the  world  now, 
something  must  be  done  with  her  writings. 

These  essays  were  good  and  thoughtful,  they 
represented  study  and   toil,    but  they   did  not 
I  represent  her  real  self,   her  real  emotions,  any 
,  more   than    her   reading   represented    her   real 
,  liking.       Her  emotions,    big,  vital,    contempo 
raneous,  had  no  part  in  this  formal  and  colorless 
.  pedantry.      Of  this  she  was  still  ignorant,  how 
ever. 

She  was  sorting  her  poems  over  and  dream 
ing  about  them  when  Mary  came  home. 

"  O,  you  dear!  I've  been  thinking  about 
you  all  day.  Did  you  see  your  woman  doctor?" 


HER  FIRST  CONQUEST 

"Yes." 

"  Did  you  like  her  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  do  n't  know — yes,  I  think  I  do.  I 
did  n't  at  first." 

"  Where  else  did  you  go  ?  " 

"  Nowhere.     I  came  home  to  lunch." 

"  Eat  alone  ?  "  Mary  was  taking  off  her 
things  and  was  more  than  usually  fragmentary. 

"No.  Mr.  Taylor  was  there."  Mary  faced 
her. 

"  Now  see  here,  Rose  Butcher,  do  you  want 
to  break  my  heart  into  smithereens?  If  you 
do,  you  go  on  lunching  with  Owen  Taylor." 

Rose  laughed  at  her  tone  of  simulated  sor 
row  and  dismay. 

"  He  moved  down  to  my  end  of  the  table, 
too." 

Mary  plumped  into  a  chair  and  stared. 

"  Well,  that  finishes  me.  I  'm  coming  home 
to  lunch  after  this.  If  you  prove  a  terrater, 
I  '11  have  your  back  hair,  Rose  Dutcher." 

"  I  could  n't  help  it.  He  did  n't  want  to 
shout  at  me  across  the  table." 

Mary's  voice  softened. 

"  What  did  you  talk  about  ?  " 

"  He  talked  about  you." 

"  Did  he  ?     What  did  he  say  ?" 

"He  said  you  were  a  good  girl,  and  you 
are." 

"  Is  that  all  ?  " 

221 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

"  What  more  could  you  ask  ?  " 

"  He  might  'ave  praised  me  beauty  !  "  Then 
she  laughed  and  rushed  at  Rose  and  hugged 
her  for  some  reason  not  expressed. 

"Is  n't  he  just  grand?" 

"  I  'm  going  out  to  dinner  Sunday  night !  " 

"Where  ?     Woman  doctor's  ?  " 

"  Yes.     I  met  her  sister,  too." 

"O,  you  '11  soon  be  getting  so  swell  you  won't 
notice  us.  Well,  anyhow,  you  '11  leave  me 
Owen?" 

In  the  mood  in  which  she  went  to  sleep  that 
night,  there  was  no  premonition  of  conquest. 
The  tide  of  her  life  sank  low.  It  was  impossible 
for  her  to  succeed  —  she,  a  little  country  girl,  of 
five  feet  nine.  She  looked  at  her  bulk  as  it 
showed  under  the  quilts.  How  small  a  thing 
she  was  to  be  set  over  against  the  mighty  city. 

And  yet  Napoleon  was  less  than  she.  And 
Patti  and  Edwin  Booth  were  not  so  large.  The 
life  of  a  great  actor,  like  Edwin  Booth,  a  singer, 
like  Patti,  interested  her  deeply.  She  wondered 
that  they  could  do  things  like  other  people. 
They  were  so  public,  so  admired,  so  lifted  into 
the  white-hot  glare  of  success. 

She  brought  her  mind  back  to  the  point. 
They  succeeded,  small  beings  though  they  were, 
they  faced  the  millions  of  the  earth  and  became 
the  masters,  the  kings  and  queens  of  art. 


HER   FIRST  CONQUEST 

By  what  necromancy  did  they  do  this  ?  If  it 
was  born  in  them,  then  there  was  hope  for 
her ;  if  they  reached  it  by  toil,  then,  surely,  there 
was  hope  for  her. 


223 


CHAPTER  XVII 

HER   FIRST   DINNER    OUT 

Rose  went  to  see  the  parts  of  the  city  which 
no  true  Chicagoan  ever  visits.  That  is  to  say, 
she  spent  Sunday  in  the  park,  admiring  with 
pathetic  fortitude  the  sward,  the  curving  drives, 
and  the  bridges  and  the  statues,  in  company 
with  the  lowly  and  nameless  multitude — she  even 
crowded  in  to  see  the  animals. 

She  had  intended  to  get  back  to  church,  con 
formable  to  Mary's  programme,  which  was  to 
start  in  St.  James,  and  go  in  rotation  to  all 
the  great  churches  and  hear  the  choirs;  but  it 
happened  that  on  this  first  Sunday  there  was  a 
fine  west  wind,  and  the  three-masters  were  set 
ting  sail  to  the  north  close  inshore,  and  when 
Rose  found  she  could  sit  on  the  park  benches 
and  see  those  mighty  birds  sail  by  she  was  con 
tent  to  do  that  and  nothing  more. 

She  had  no  cheap,  easy  and  damnable  com 
parisons.  The  passage  of  each  purple-sailed 
lumber  freighter  was  a  poem  to  her.  They 
floated  noiselessly,  effortlessly,  on  a  beautiful  sea 
of  color.  They  drove  like  butterflies  in  dreams, 
their  motive  power  indiscernible. 
224 


HER   FIRST  DINNER  OUT 

She  sat  with  her  chin  in  her  palm,  her  big 
eyes,  like  beautiful  windows,  letting  in  the  sun 
shine  and  the  grace  of  ships  and  clouds  without 
effort,  fixed  in  an  ecstasy  of  reverie.  Around 
her  streamed  floods  of  the  city's  newly  acquired 
residents,  clerks,  bookkeepers,  typewriters,  shop 
girls,  butcher's  boys,  salesmen,  all  fresh  from  the 
small  towns  and  from  the  farms  of  the  West.  As 
the  ships  passed,  she  gave  her  attention  to  these 
people — recognized  in  them  many  familiar  types. 
There  was  the  smart  young  man,  son  of  the  tav- 
ernkeeper  in  Cyene.  There  was  the  blundering 
big  wag,  Ed  Smith  of  Molasses  Gap  (assistant 
shipping  clerk  in  Smith  &  Rydal's  hardware 
store  now).  There  were  types  like  Mary,  hearty, 
loud-voiced,  cheery,  wholesome,  whom  the  city 
could  never  rob  of  their  native  twang.  There 
were  Tom  and  Grace  and  Elsa  and  Bert  and  all 
the  rest  of  the  bright,  restless  spirits  of  the  coun 
try  towns  and  wide-awake  school  districts  come 
to  try  their  fortunes  in  the  great  city  like  herself. 

They  wore  bargains  in  ready-made  clothing 
pretty  generally,  but  it  was  up-to-date  and  they 
were  all  clean  as  a  new  dime.  They  laughed, 
shouted  jokes,  scuffled  and  pushed  the  girls, 
quite  in  the  good  country  way.  They  made 
quaint  and  sometimes  insolent  remarks  about 
the  park  and  its  adornments,  assuming  blase"  airs 
as  old  residents,  and  pointing  out  to  the  later 
arrivals  the  various  attractions. 
225 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

There  came  by  other  groups,  as  alien  as  the 
foregoing  were  familiar.  Dark-skinned,  queer, 
bow-legged,  bewhiskered  little  men,  followed  by 
their  wives  and  children,  all  sallow  and  crooked. 
They  were  all  foreigners.  Great  droves,  whole 
neighborhoods  drifted  along,  chattering  unintel 
ligible  languages,  incomprehensible  to  the  coun 
try  girl  as  the  Chinese.  Whether  they  were 
Italians  or  Jews  or  Bohemians  she  could  not 
tell,  but  she  could  see  the  marks  of  hunger  and 
hard  work  on  their  pallid  faces.  These  were, 
no  doubt,  the  people  who  moved  about  under 
the  murk  of  that  deadly  region  through  which 
she  had  been  borne  by  her  train  that  first  night. 

She  went  home  from  this  first  visit  to  the 
park  oppressed  and  over-borne  with  the  multi 
tude  of  her  new  impressions.  She  felt  quite  as 
she  did  upon  her  return  from  the  Art  Institute, 
to  which  she  had  hastened  early  in  the  first 
week.  So  much  that  was  artificially  beautiful 
tired  her  and  irritated  her,  like  eating  a  meal 
of  honey  and  sponge  cake.  Her  head  ached 
with  the  formal  curves  of  the  drives,  with  the 
unchanging  fixedness  of  the  statues,  just  as  the 
unnatural  murky  tones  of  the  landscapes  in 
frames  gave  her  vague  discomfort. 

In  the  few  days  between  her  meeting  with 
Isabel  and  her  dinner  she  saw  the  Wheat  Ex 
change  (which  interested  her  mightily,  like  bat 
tle),  she  went  again  to  the  Art  Institute,  she 
226 


HER   FIRST  DINNER  OUT 

visited  other  parks,  she  went  to  the  top  of  the 
Masonic  Temple,  and  did  many  other  things 
which  the  native  high-class  Chicagoan  prides 
himself  on  never  doing.  Happily  she  appre 
hended  not  the  enormity  of  her  offence;  on  the 
contrary,  she  was  seeing  life,  and  this  feeling 
compensated  her  when  she  did  not  otherwise  en 
joy  "a  sight."  It  was  a  duty,  and  she  felt 
grateful  to  the  unknown  city  officials  for  the 
chance  to  see  these  things,  even  if  it  nearly  broke 
her  neck  and  tired  her  out  to  see  them.  She 
looked  forward  to  her  dinner  with  great  interest. 
She  had  thought  a  great  deal  about  Dr.  Her- 
rick,  and  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  she 
was  not  much  to  blame.  "  I  suppose  she  thought 
I  was  a  poor  helpless  ninny  coming  to  ask  her 
for  a  job,"  she  said  to  Mary. 

"  Well,  she  could  n't  have  had  much  gump 
tion,"  Mary  loyally  replied. 

Mary  came  home  from  a  walk  with  Mr.  Taylor 
on  purpose  to  help  Rose  "fix  up  and  get  off," 
but  found  her  quite  dressed  and  watching  the 
clock. 

"  Well,  you  are  a  prompt  one !  Stand  up 
now,  and  let  me  see  if  you  're  all  right." 

Rose  obediently  stood  and  was  twirled  about 
in  various  lights. 

"  That 's  fine  !     That  grey  dress  is  such  a  fit, 
and  scarlet  goes  well  with  it.    O,  you  sweet  thing! 
How  're  you  going  to  get  home?" 
227 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

"  Walk,  of  course." 

"  Shall  I  send  Owen  over  for  you  ?  " 

They  both  laughed  at  her  tone. 

"  O,  what  a  self-sacrificing  friend  ! "  Rose  ex 
claimed.  "  I  guess  I  can  walk  home  alone.  I  'm 
not  afraid  of  the  dark." 

"  O,  it  ain  't  that.  It  would  be  sweller  to  have 
some  one  come  after  you." 

"Well,  you  and  Owen  both  come." 

"Well,  I  '11  see.  If  I  feel  safe  by  nine-thirty 
I'll  send  him.  But  if  you're  not  back  here  by 
ten  o'clock  I  '11  be  after  ye."  This  made  them 
both  laugh  again. 

"  Where  is  this  address  ?  " 

Rose  gave  her  the  card. 

"  Why,  this  is  away  up  in  the  swell  part.  My, 
ain 't  you  comin'  on  !  "  Mary  clucked  with  her 
tongue.  "  You  '11  be  calling  on  the  Lake  Drive 
soon." 

Rose  looked  neat  and  altogether  well  com 
posed  in  her  simple  grey  dress  and  sober-hued 
bonnet  and  gloves.  She  wasn't  in  the  very 
latest  fall  fashion,  of  course,  but  she  was  not 
noticeably  out  of  vogue.  She  felt  quite  at  ease 
as  she  walked  up  the  street. 

This  ease  began  to  desert  her  as  the  houses 
grew  larger  and  the  doorplates  more  ornate. 
What  if  Dr.  Herrick  lived  in  one  of  these 
houses  !  They  were  not,  of  course,  palatial  like 
those  houses  on  the  lake  front,  but  they  looked 
228 


HER   FIRST  DINNER   OUT 

too  grand  for  any  of  her  friends  to  live  in  them. 
Her  fear  of  getting  tangled  in  social  intricacies 
grew  keener  as  she  walked  up  the  steps  to  a 
large  cream-colored  brick  building.  The  mys 
tery  of  "flats"  was  to  be  faced.  The  entrance  was 
tiled  and  flecklessly  clean.  On  the  right  were 
three  bells,  one  above  the  other.  Over  the  sec 
ond  one  she  saw  Dr.  Herrick's  name.  She  pulled 
the  bell  and  waited  for  developments. 

Suddenly  a  hollow  voice,  hoarse  and  breathy, 
pushed  from  the  wall. 

"Kim  roight  up."  She  turned  to  the  inner 
door  which  opened  mysteriously,  and  a  small 
boy  in  buttons  motioned  her  to  the  elevator. 
She  began  to  comprehend  and  felt  grateful  to 
the  small  boy  for  his  considerate  gravity. 

At  the  landing  the  door  was  opened  by  Etta, 
the  pretty  little  sister. 

She  said  "  How-do-you-do ! "  in  her  soft,  timid 
little  voice,  and  let  Rose  into  an  exquisite  little 
bedroom  off  the  hall  and  asked  her  to  lay  off 
her  hat.  She  stood  in  awe  of  Rose,  who  seemed 
very  large  and  stern  to  her. 

Rose  felt  a  little  nervous  about  what  was  to 
come  after,  but  contrived  to  keep  outwardly 
calm  while  following  her  gentle  guide  out  into 
the  hall  and  forward  into  a  small  reception 
room.  Isabel  arose  and  greeted  her  with  a  smile 
of  delight. 

"  Ah  !  here  you  are  !  Do  you  know  I  began 
229 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

to  fear  you  were  mythical — that  I  'd  dreamed 
you.  Warren,  this  is  Miss  Dutcher.  Miss 
Butcher,  Mr.  Mason."  A  slow,  large  man  stepped 
forward  and  looked  her  in  the  face  with  pene 
trating  eyes.  He  was  a  little  taller  than  she 
was  and  his  face  had  a  weary  look.  He  was 
blond  as  a  Norwegian  and  his  voice  was  very 
beautiful. 

"I  am  very  glad  you  're  not  a  myth,"  he  said, 
and  his  face  lost  its  tired  look  for  a  moment. 

"  This  is  my  nephew,  Mr.  Paul  Herrick  ; "  a, 
slim  young  man  came  up  to  shake  hands.  He 
was  plainly  a  college  man,  and  Rose  compre 
hended  him  at  once. 

Isabel's  voice  changed  and  a  little  flush  came 
to  her  face  as  she  put  her  hand  on  the  shoulder 
of  a  tall,  black-bearded  man  standing  quietly 
in  the  shadow. 

"  This  is  Dr.  Sanborn,  my  husband-who-is- 
to-be." 

"If  nothing  happens."  He  smiled  as  he 
shook  hands. 

"  If  she  does  n't  conclude  to  take  me  in 
stead,"  remarked  Mason. 

Rose  had  perception  enough  at  command  to 
feel  the  powerful  personalities  grouped  about 
her.  She  sat  near  Dr.  Sanborn,  with  whom  she 
was  at  ease  at  once,  he  was  so  awkward  and  so 
kindly.  He  took  off  his  glasses  and  polished 
them  carefully  as  if  anxious  to  see  her  better. 
230 


HER   FIRST  DINNER   OUT 

"  Isabel  tells  me  you  gave  her  a  little  lecture 
the  other  day.  I  'm  glad  of  it.  We  city  folks 
need  it  once  in  a  while.  We  get  to  thinking 
that  country  folks  are  necessarily  fools  and 
stupids  by  reason  of  our  farce-comedies  and  our 
so-called  comic  weeklies." 

"  We  're  not  so  bad  as  that,"  said  Rose. 

"  Of  course  not ;  nobody  could  be  so  bad  as 
that." 

Isabel  sat  down  near  Mason.  "  I  tell  you, 
Warren,  that  girl  has  a  future  before  her." 

"  No  doubt.  It  could  n't  well  be  behind 
her." 

"  Don't  be  flippant !  See  that  head  !  But  it 
ain't  that — she  has  power.  I  feel  it,  she  made 
me  feel  it.  I  want  you  to  see  some  of  her 
writing  and  see  what  can  be  done  for  her." 

Mason  looked  bored.     "Writes,  does  she  ?" 

"  Of  course  she  writes.  See  that  head,  I 
say." 

"I  seethe  head  and  it's  a  handsome  head. 
I  '11  concede  that.  So  is  Sanborn's,  but  he 
can't  write  a  prescription  without  a  printed 
form." 

"  O  well,  if  you  are  in  the  mood  to  be  irrev 
erent  ! " 

Mason's  face  lighted  up.     "  There,  you  can 

write  !     Anyone  who  is  capable  of  a  touch  like 

that — in  the  presence  of  gods,  men  should  be 

meek.     At  the   same    time    I  would  hasten  to 

231 


ROSE  OF  DUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

warn  you,  the  Doctor  is  becoming  marvelously 
interested  in  this  girl  with  a  future.  He  has 
faced  her;  he  is  actually  touching  her  knee 
with  his  forefinger  !  " 

Isabel  laughed.  "He  always  does  that 
when  he  argues  anything.  It  won't  do  any 
harm." 

"  It  might  n't  do  you  any  harm,  but  that 
innocent  country  girl ! " 

"She  can  take  care  of  herself.  You  should 
have  heard  her  put  me  down  in  my  chair.  I 
want  you  to  take  her  in  to  dinner." 

"  I — madam  ?  Etta  is  my  choice,  after  the 
hostess,  of  course.  I  'm  a  little  shy  of  these 
girls  who  write." 

"  Well,  you  take  me  in  and  I  '11  let  Paul 
take  Rose,  but  I  want  her  to  sit  by  you.  I  in 
vited  you,  of  all  the  men  of  my  vast  acquaint 
ance,  because  I  hoped  your  trained  and  fictive 
eye  would  see  and  appreciate  her." 

"  My  trained  and  fictive  eye  is  regarding 
her,  but  maybe  she  is  like  an  impressionist 
painting,  better  seen  at  a  little  distance.  I 
confess  she  is  attractive  at  this  focus,  but  O, 
if  her  mind — !  " 

"You  need  not  worry  about  her  mind. 
She 's  a  genius.  Well,  I  guess  Professor  Roberts 
is  not  coming.  Suppose  we  go  in  ! " 

"  Are  n't  we  rather  formal  tonight  ?  " 

"Well,  yes,  but  Dr.  Sanborn  had  no  din- 
232 


HER  FIRST  DINNER  OUT 

ner  in  the  middle  of  the  day  so  I  transferred 
ours." 

"  I  'm  glad  you  did,  for  I  'm  hungry  too." 

And  so  it  happened  Rose  found  herself  seated 
beside  the  big  blond  man  whose  face  seemed  so 
weary  and  so  old.  Paul  sat  on  her  left,  and 
they  chatted  easily  on  college  affairs.  He  was 
from  Ann  Arbor,  he  told  her. 

Rose  looked  with  wonder  at  Dr.  Herrick. 
She  was  quite  another  woman,  entirely  unprofes 
sional.  Her  face  was  warm  with  color,  and  she 
wore  an  exquisite  dress,  simple  as  a  uniform,  yet 
falling  into  graceful  soft  folds  about  her  feet. 
Her  brown  hair  was  drawn  about  her  pretty 
head  in  wavy  masses.  Her  eyes  sparkled  with 
the  pleasure  and  pride  of  being  hostess  to  such 
company.  Altogether  she  looked  scarcely  older 
than  Rose.  The  table  was  set  with  tall  candles 
with  colored  shades,  and  the  simple  little  dinner 
was  exquisitely  served.  At  the  same  time  it  all 
seemed  artificial  and  unhomelike  to  Rose.  The 
home  which  had  no  cellar  and  no  yard  was  to 
her  false,  transitory  and  unwholesome  no  mat 
ter  how  lovely  the  walls  might  be.  Air  seemed 
lacking  and  the  free  flow  of  electricity.  It  was 
like  staying  in  a  hotel. 

Mason  turned  to  her  after  a  little  talk  with 
Etta. 

"And  so  you  have  joined  the  stream  of  for 
tune-seekers  setting  always  to  the  city.  Do  you 

233 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

feel  yourself  to  be  a  part  of  a  predestinated 
movement?" 

"I  did  not  when  I  started  —  I  do  now." 

"  That 's  right.  This  is  the  Napoleon  of 
cities.  A  city  of  colossal  vices  and  colossal  vir 
tues.  It  is  now  devouring,  one  day  it  will  be 
gin  to  send  back  its  best  arterial  blood  into  the 
nation.  My  metaphor  is  a  bit  questionable  but 
that  is  due  to  my  two  minds  concerning  this 
salad  —  I  alternately  curse  and  bow  down  in 
wonder  before  this  city.  Its  future  is  appalling 
to  think  of.  In  1920  it  will  be  the  mightiest 
center  of  the  English  speaking  race  —  thank 
you,  I  '11  not  take  any  more  dressing  —  I  envy 
you  young  people  who  come  now  when  the 
worst  of  the  fight  against  material  greed  is 
nearly  over.  We  who  have  given  twenty  years 
of  our  lives  —  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  don't 
know  why  I  should  moralize  for  your  benefit — 
I  meant  to  say  I  hope  you  have  not  come  to 
Chicago  to  make  your  living." 

"  Why  yes  —  I  hope  to  — but  my  father  gives 
me  a  little  to  live  on  till  I  find  something  to 
do." 

"  That 's  good.  Then  sit  down  and  watch 
the  city.  It  does  n't  matter  how  humble  your 
living  place — sit  above  the  city's  tumult.  Ob 
serve  it,  laugh  at  it  but  do  n't  fight  it — do  n't 
mix  in  the  grind.  Keep  it  in  your  brain,  don't 
let  it  get  into  your  blood." 

234 


HER   FIRST  DINNER  OUT 

Rose  looked  at  him  in  wonder,  his  voice  was 
so  quiet  and  his  words  so  vibrant  with  meaning. 

"  I  never  felt  so  drawn  to  a  woman  in  my 
life,"  Isabel  said  to  her  betrothed.  "  I  do  n't 
pretend  to  understand  it.  I  just  love  her  this 
minute." 

"With  due  qualifications  I  can  agree  with 
you,  my  dear.  She  is  very  promising  indeed." 

"  She  has  the  power  that  compels.  I  wish 
she'd  get  hold  of  Mason."  Isabel  smiled  wisely: 
"  You  see  Mason  is  really  listening  to  her  now, 
and  poor  Etta  is  left  alone.  I  wish  Professor 
Roberts  were  here.  He 's  such  good  fun  for  her. 
Before  the  evening's  out  every  man  in  the  house 
will  be  around  that  Wisconsin  girl,  and  I  do  n't 
blame  'em  a  bit." 

A  little  later  the  maid  announced  Professor 
Roberts. 

"  Ah  !  bring  him  right  in,  Mary!" 

A  cheery  voice  was  heard  in  the  hall-way. 

"  Do  n't  rise,  I  '11  find  a  place  somewhere.  I 
am  delinquent  I  know  ;  what 's  this — a  roast  ?" 

"Now  do  n't  you  pretend  to  be  starving  just 
to  please  me;  this  Sunday  evening  dinner  was 
given  for  me  especially,"  said  Sanborn. 

"  Hungry  ?  Of  course  I  'm  hungry.  I  've 
come  all  the  way  from  Fifty-second  street." 

Professor  Roberts  was  a  middle-aged  man, 
with  a  chin  whisker.  He  had  a  small,  elegant 
figure,  and  his  eyes  were  humorous. 

235 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

Everybody  took  on  new  life  the  moment  he 
came  in. 

"  The  fact  is  I  got  bridged,"  he  explained, 
after  being  introduced  to  Rose. 

"All  from  living  on  the  south  side,"  said 
Paul. 

"  I  know — I  know!  However,  somebody  must 
live  on  the  south  side,  and  so  I  stay  to  keep  up 
the  general  average." 

" How  modest  and  kind  of  you!" 

"  Professor  belongs  to  the  University  settle 
ment —  down  near  the  Indiana  line,"  explained 
Paul  to  Rose. 

"  Anybody  'd  think,  to  hear  you  north  siders 
talk,  that  Fifty-second  street  was  at  the  uttermost 
parts  of  the  earth." 

"It  is." 

"Well,  we  don't  have  weekly  burglaries  on 
our  side." 

"  We  no  longer  sing  '  Lily  Dale '  and  the 
Sankey  hymns  up  here." 

All  this  banter  was  amusing  to  Rose.  It 
opened  to  her  the  inner  social  landmarks  of  the 
city.  She  did  n't  know  before  that  there  was  a 
west  side  and  a  north  side  to  the  city. 

Professor  Roberts  bubbled  over  with  fun.  He 
was  curiously  like  some  of  the  men  Rose  had 
known  at  Bluff  Siding.  His  chin  whiskers,  his 
mirthful  eyes,  and  his  hearty  laughter  were 
familiar  as  a  dandelion.  What  could  he  be 
236 


HER  FIRST  DINNER  OUT 

professor  of,  she  thought  —  and  asked  her 
neighbor. 

Paul  told  her.  "  He  's  professor  of  geology 
and  paleontology,  and  knows,  besides,  a  tre 
mendous  lot  about  bugs  and  animals.  He  made 
a  trip  up  into  the  Yukon  country  last  year.  He 
was  gone  eighteen  months,  with  no  one  but  a 
couple  of  Indian  guides.  He 's  a  big  fellow, 
for  all  he  's  so  jolly  and  everyday  in  his  man 
ners." 

The  talk  that  went  on  was  a  revelation  to  the 
country  girl.  The  three  men  addressed  them 
selves  to  Isabel,  and  every  conceivable  subject 
received  some  sort  of  mention.  Roberts  joked 
incessantly,  and  Dr.  Sanborn  held  him  a  good 
second,  while  Mason  said  the  most  enigmatical 
things  in  his  smooth,  melodious  bass.  His  face 
lost  its  heavy  look  under  the  eyes,  and  his  smile 
was  very  attractive — though  he  never  laughed. 

Rose  sat  with  the  other  young  people,  ab 
sorbed  in  the  touch  and  go,  brilliancy  and  fun 
of  the  talk.  It  was  wonderful  to  Rose  that  one 
little  woman  could  sit  so  masterful  and  at  ease 
before  three  such  keen  conversationalists  as  these 
men  seemed  to  her. 

After  dinner  they  took  on  a  quieter  tone. 
Mason  asked  the  privilege  of  ruminating  over 
his  coffee  and  cigar. 

"  Ruminate,  yes ;  but  do  n't  make  it  an  ex 
cuse  for  going  to  sleep,"  said  Isabel.  "You 

237 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

must  wake  up  at  any  rate  and  tell  us  a  story  be 
fore  the  evening  is  over." 

She  got  Roberts  started  on  his  recent  trip  to 
see  the  Indian  snake  dance  at  Walpi,  and  they 
listened  breathlessly  till  he  rounded  up  safely 
half-an-hour  later.  Then  Dr.  Sanborn  was 
called  upon. 

"Come,  Doctor,  we  must  have  your  song!" 

"  His  song  ! "  exclaimed  Roberts. 

"  One  song  ?  "  asked  Mason. 

"  One  song  alone  is  all  he  knows,  and  the 
only  way  he  acquired  that  was  by  damnable  iter 
ation.  It  was  a  cheerful  lay  sung  by  his  nurse 
in  the  hospital  during  a  spell  of  brain  fever,"  ex 
plained  Isabel. 

"Is  this  thing  unavoidable  ?"  asked  Mason 
in  illy  concealed  apprehension. 

"Thus  we  earn  our  dinner,"  replied  Roberts. 
"To  what  length  this  love  of  food  will  carry  a 
man!" 

"Well,  let's  have  the  agony  over  at  once." 

The  Doctor  lifted  his  tall  frame  to  the 
perpendicular  as  if  pulled  by  a  string,  and, 
marching  to  the  piano,  waited  for  Etta  to  play 
the  chords.  His  face  was  expressionless,  but  his 
eyes  laughed. 

His  voice  shook  the  floor  with  the  doleful 
cadences  of  a  distressing  ballad  about  a  man 
who  murdered  his  wife  because  she  was  "un- 
trew,"  and  was  afterwards  haunted  by  a  "  figger 

238 


HER  FIRST  DINNER  OUT 

in  white  with  pityous  eyes  and  cries."  He 
eventually  died  of  remorse  and  the  ballad  ended 
by  warning  all  men  to  refrain  from  hasty  judg 
ments  upon  their  wives. 

"Amen  !  So  say  we  all !"  Professor  Roberts 
heartily  agreed.  A  lively  discussion  was  pre 
cipitated  by  Mason,  who  said  "the  man  must  be 
judged  by  the  facts  before  him  at  the  time  the 
deed  was  done,  not  afterwards.  I  've  no  doubt 
there  are  wives  whose  murder  would  be  justifi 
able  homicide." 

Isabel  interrupted  it  at  last  by  saying : 
"  That  will  do,  that  is  quite  enough.  You  are 
on  the  road  to  vituperation." 

"  Miss  Dutcher,  you  will  sing  for  us,  won't 
you  ?  " 

"  O,I  don't  sing."  Rose  turned  upon  her  in 
terror. 

"Really  and  truly?" 

"  Really  and  truly." 

"  Then  you  play  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  accomplishments  at  all.  All  the 
music  I  can  make  is  a  whistle  and  a  jewsharp,  I 
assure  you." 

This  set  Roberts  off.  "  Ah  1  La  Belle  Sif- 
flcuse !  we  will  hear  you  whistle.  Dr.  Sanborn, 
Miss  Dutcher  can  whistle." 

Rose  shrank  back.  "  O,  I  can  *t  whistle  before 
company  ;  I  learned  on  the  farm,  I  was  alone  so 
much." 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

They  fell  upon  her  in  entreaties,  and  at  last 
she  half  promised. 

"  If  you  won't  look  at  me  — " 

"  Turn  down  the  gas  !  "  shouted  Roberts. 

They  made  the  room  dim.  There  was  a 
little  silence,  and  then  into  the  room  crept  a 
keen  little  sweet  piping  sound.  It  broadened 
out  into  a  clear  fluting  and  entered  upon  an  old 
dance  tune.  As  she  went  on  she  put  more  and 
more  go  into  it,  till  Roberts  burst  out  with  a 
long-drawn  nasal  cry,  "  Sash-ay  all ! "  and  Rose 
broke  down  into  a  laugh.  Everybody  shouted 
"  Bravo  ! " 

Roberts  exulted.  "  O,  but  I  'd  like  to  see  an 
old-fashioned  country  dance  again.  Give  us 
another  old-fashioned  tune." 

"  I  do  n't  know  that  I  do  them  right,"  said 
Rose.  "I  hear  the  fiddlers  playing  them." 

"  More  !  more  !  "  cried  Roberts.  "  I  like 
those  old  things.  Mason  here  pretends  not  to 
know  them,  but  he  's  danced  them  many  a  time." 

Rose  whistled  more  of  the  old  tunes.  "  Haste 
to  the  Wedding,"  "Honest  John,"  "Polly 
Perkins,"  and  at  last  reached  some  fantastic 
furious  tunes,  which  she  had  caught  from  the 
Norwegian  fiddlers. 

Then  she  stopped  and  they  turned  up  the 
light.  She  looked  a  little  ashamed  of  her  per 
formance,  and  Isabel  seemed  to  understand  it,  so 
she  said  : 

240 


HER  FIRST  DINNER  OUT 

"  Now  that  is  only  fooling,  and  I  'm  going  to 
ask  Miss  Butcher  to  read  some  of  her  verses  to 
us.  Dr.  Thatcher  writes  me  that  she  does  verses 
excellently  well."  This  sobered  the  company 
at  once,  as  it  well  might,  and  Rose  was  in 
despair. 

"  O  no,  do  n't  ask  me  to  do  that,  please." 

"This  is  your  chance,  rise  to  it,"  insisted 
Isabel. 

"  If  you  will  I  '11  sing  my  song  again  for 
you,"  Sanborn  said. 

At  last  Rose  gave  up  resistance.  Her  heart 
beat  so  terribly  hard  she  felt  smothered,  but  she 
recited  a  blank  verse  poem.  It  was  an  echo  of 
Tennyson,  of  course,  not  exactly  "  Enoch  Arden," 
but  reminiscent  of  it,  but  the  not  too  critical 
taste  of  Dr.  Sanborn  and  Prof.  Roberts  accepted 
it  with  applause. 

Mason  stole  a  sly  look  at  Isabel,  who  did 
not  give  up.  She  asked  for  one  more  and  Rose 
read  a  second  selection,  a  spasmodic,  equally 
artificial  graft,  a  supposedly  deeply  emotional 
lyric,  an  echo  of  Mrs.  Browning,  with  a  third 
line  which  went  plumping  to  the  deeps  of  pas 
sion  after  a  rhyme.  It  had  power  in  it,  and  a 
sort  of  sincerity  in  the  reading  which  carried 
even  Isabel  away — besides  that,  her  magnificent 
figure  was  a  poem  in  itself. 

"What  a  voice  you  have!"   she  said  as  she 


241 


ROSE   OF  DUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

seized  her  by  the  hands.     "  You  read  beautifully 
— and  you  write  well,  too." 

Rose  noticed  that  Mr.  Mason,  the  large  man, 
said  nothing  at  all.  In  the  midst  of  the  talk  the 
maid  approached  Isabel. 

"  Some  one  has  called  for  Miss  Butcher." 
Every  one  shook  hands  with  her  cordially;  they 
received  her  as  an  equal,  that  was  evident. 

Isabel  went  in  with  Rose  to  help  her  put  on 
her  things. 

"  My  dear,  you  've  pleased  them  all  and  I  've 
just  fallen  in  love  with  you.  I  'm  going  to  have 
you  at  the  Woman's  Club.  You  must  come  and 
see  me.  Come  often,  won't  you?" 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to,"  Rose  said  simply,  but 
her  face  was  flushed  and  her  eyes  shining  with  joy. 

Owen  was  outside  in  the  hall  alone. 

"  Did  n't  Mary  come  too?  " 

"  No,  she  concluded  it  would  look  awkward 
if  she  came  and  stood  outside  the  door." 

They  walked  along  side  by  side.  Taylor 
considered  it  an  affectation  to  offer  a  strong 
young  woman  his  arm,  except  at  critical  passages 
of  the  street. 

"  Did  you  have  a  good  time?" 

"O  splendid  1"  she  said,  the  joy  of  her  social 
success  upon  her.  "  It  was  lovely  1  I  never  met 
such  fine  people.  Everything  was  so  full  of  fun 
and  they  were  intellectual,  too.  Dr.  Herrick  is 
wonderful!  Mr.  Mason,  too." 
242 


HER  FIRST  DINNER  OUT 

"What  Mr.  Mason?" 

"  Warren  Mason,  I  think  they  call  him." 

"  Is  that  so?  Warren  Mason  is  considered 
one  of  the  finest  newspaper  men  in  the  city.  All 
the  fellows  look  up  to  him." 

"I'm  glad  I  met  him.  O,  now  I  see!  Dr. 
Herrick  invited  him  there  to  hear  me  read.  I 
made  a  failure,  I  'm  afraid." 

She  thought  so  more  and  more  as  the  rose 
color  of  her  little  triumph  grew  gray.  She 
ended  by  tossing  to  and  fro  on  her  bed, 
raging  to  think  how  foolishly  she  had  acted. 
The  long  poem  was  bad,  she  saw  it  now.  It  was 
involved  and  twisted  and  dull.  She  saw  Mason's 
face  darken  again,  and  it  seemed  now  it  wore  a 
look  of  disgust. 

And  the  whistling!  Good  heavens,  was  there 
no  limit  to  her  folly,  her  childishness? 

So  she  writhed  and  groaned,  her  hopes  all 
pathetically  trampled  and  dust-covered  now. 
Everybody  would  hear  of  her  idiocy.  She  had 
been  so  determined  to  do  something  worth 
while,  and  she  had  read  her  worst  lines,  and 
whistled — whistled  like  a  cow-boy. 

The  houses  of  the  Lake  Shore  seemed  like 
impenetrable  castles  in  the  deep  of  her  despair, 
and  Mason's  words  about  the  city  grew  each 
moment  deeper  in  meaning. 

***** 


243 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

After  Rose  left,  Dr.  Herrick  came  back  into 
the  room  radiant. 

"There,  what  do  you  think  of  her  ?  Am  I 
crazy  or  not  ?  I  claim  to  have  discovered  a 
genius." 

"  My  dear,  seems  to  me  Thatcher  has  a  prior 
claim." 

"  Well,  anyhow,  she  ts  a  genius.  Do  n't  you 
think  so,  Warren  ?" 

"She  can  whistle." 

"  O,  do  n't  be  so  enigmatical,  it  is  out  of  place. 
She 's  got  power.  You  can  't  deny  that." 

"Time  enough  to  say  what  she  can  do  when 
she  finds  out  what  polly-rot  she  is  writing  now. 
The  whistling  interested  me,"  he  added,  malev 
olently. 

Isabel's  face  darkened  a  little. 

"I  understand,  this  is  one  of  your  prank 
nights.  But  I  shall  not  allow  it  to  affect  me. 
You  cannot  sneer  down  that  beautiful  girl." 

"I'm  not  sneering  her  down.  I  am  merely 
indicating  where  she  needs  help.  She  is  a 
glorious  creature  physically  and  she 's  keen 
mentally — morally,  no  doubt,  she 's  well  in 
structed — after  the  manner  of  country  girls — but 
esthetically  she 's  in  a  sorrowful  way.  Taste  is 
our  weak  point  in  America,  and  in  the  rural 
regions — well,  there  is  n't  any  taste  above  that 
for  shortcake,  dollar  chromos  and  the  New  York 
Repository" 

244 


HER  FIRST  DINNER  OUT 

"He's  started,  he's  off!"  said  Roberts.  "Now, 
I  like  the  girl's  verses  ;  they  are  full  of  dignity 
and  fervor,  it  seems  to  me." 

"  Full  of  fever,  you  mean.  You  specialists  in 
nerve  diseases  and  spotted  bugs  would  n't  know 
a  crass  imitation  of  Tennyson  if  you  had  it  in  a 
glass  vial.  It 's  such  poor  creatures  as  you  who 
keep  these  young  writers  imitating  successes. 
The  girl  has  a  fine  roll  of  voice  and  a  splendid 
curve  of  bust,  and  that  made  the  stuff  she  read, 
poetry — to  impressionable  persons." 

"  Oh  !  Oh !  Oh  ! "  chorused  the  young  people. 
"Roberts,  you  are  a  sensualist,"  Sanborn  inter 
posed  gravely. 

Mason  imperturbably  proceeded. 

"The  girl  has  power  of  some  sort.  I  rather 
suspect  it  to  be  dramatic,  but  that 's  mimetic 
and  of  a  low  order,  anyway.  Her  primary  dis 
tinction,  with  me,  consists  in  something  quite 
other  than  these.  The  girl  has  character,  and 
that 's  saying  a  good  deal  about  a  woman,  espe 
cially  a  girl.  She  has  departed  widely  from  the 
conventional  type  without  losing  essential 
womanliness." 

"Ah,  now  we  are  coming  at  it ! "  they  all 
exclaimed,  as  they  drew  around  him,  with  exag 
gerated  expressions  of  interest. 

"The  girl  is  darkly  individual,  and  very 
attractive  because  of  it;  but  you  make  of  her  a 
social  success,  as  I  can  see  Isabel  is  planning  to 

245 


ROSE  OF  DUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

do,  and  get  her  to  wearing  low-necked  dresses 
and  impoverishing  her  people,  and  you  '11  take 
all  the  charm  out  of  her." 

"  I  do  n't  believe  it!"  said  Isabel. 

"It  hasn't  hurt  Dr.  Herrick,"  put  in  Roberts. 
"I  must  say  I'd  like  to  see  the  girl  in  a  low- 
necked  dress  " — he  waved  his  hand  to  hold  them 
in  check.  "Now,  hold  on!  I  know  that  sounds 
bad,  but  I  mean  it  all  right." 

"  Oh,  no  doubt ! "  They  laughed  at  his 
embarrassment. 

Mason  interposed.  "  Roberts'  long  stay 
among  the  Wallapi  and  Tlinkit  wigwams  has 
perverted  his  naturally  moral  nature." 

Roberts  shook  his  hands  in  deprecation,  but 
made  no  further  protest. 

Sanborn  said :  "  It 's  a  serious  thing  to  advise 
a  girl  like  that.  What  do  you  intend  to  do, 
Isabel  ?  Is  a  social  success  the  thing  the  girl 
needs  ? " 

"It  won't  do  her  any  harm  to  meet  nice 
people — of  course,  she  ought  not  to  go  out  too 
much  if  she  's  going  to  write." 

"You  amuse  me,"  Mason  began  again,  in  his 
measured  way.  "  First  because  you  assume  that 
the  girl  can  go  where  she  pleases — " 

"  She  can,  too,  if  she 's  got  the  quality  we 
think  she  has.  Chicago  society  is  n't  the  New 
York  four  hundred.  We  're  all  workers  here." 

"  Workers   and   thieves,"    Mason   went  on  ; 
246 


HER  FIRST  DINNER  OUT 

"  but  if  the  girl  has  the  quality  I  think  she  has, 
she  will  map  out  her  own  career  and  follow  it 
irresistibly.  The  question  that  interests  me  is 
this — how  did  the  girl  get  here  ?  Why  did  n't 
she  stay  on  the  farm  like  Susan,  and  Sally,  and 
Ed  and  Joe  ?  How  did  she  get  through  college 
without  marrying  Harry  or  Tommy  ?  These  are 
the  vital  questions." 

"  I  do  n't  know,"  replied  Isabel.  "  I  thought 
of  those  things,  but  of  course  I  could  n't  ask 
her  on  first  acquaintance." 

Mason  lifted  his  eye-brows.  "  Ah  !  You 
drew  the  line  at  love  and  marriage.  Most 
women  — " 

Isabel  resented  this. 

"I'm  not  'most  women' — I'm  not  even  a 
type.  Do  n't  lecture  me,  please." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Isabel  ;  you  're  quite 
right."  His  tone  was  sincere,  and  restored  peace. 
"  I  always  except  you  in  any  generalization." 

"  This  is  the  most  significant  thing  of  all," 
Isabel  said  finally.  "  The  girl  has  set  us  talking 
of  her  as  if  she  were  a  personage,  instead  of  a 
girl  from  a  Wisconsin  valley — " 

"  That 's  true,"  Mason  admitted.     "  She  's  of 

*the  countless  unknown  hundreds  of  the  brightest 

minds  from  the  country,  streaming  into  the  city 

side  by  side  with  the  most  vicious  and  licentious 

loafers  of  the  towns.     It  leaves  the  country  dull, 

but  moral.     The  end  is  not  yet.     In  the  end  the 

247 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

dull  and  moral  people  survey  the  ruined  walls  of 
the  bright  and  vicious." 

"And  the  dull  and  the  moral  are  prolific," 
Sanborn  put  in. 

"  Precisely,  and  they  can  eat  and  sleep,  which 
gives  them  long  life  and  vast  stomachs." 

Roberts  sprang  up,   "  I    propose   to    escape 
while  I  can.     Mason  is  wound  up  for  all  night." 
There  was  a  little  bustle  of  parting,  and  even 
tually  Sanborn  and  Mason  walked  off  together. 

"  It 's  no  time  to  go  to  sleep.  Come  to  my 
room  and  smoke  a  pipe,"  suggested  Mason. 
"  I  'm  in  a  mood  to  talk  if  you  're  in  a  mood  to 
listen." 

Sanborn  was  a  modest  fellow,  who  admired 
his  friend.  "  I  am  always  ready  to  listen  to 
you,"  he  said. 

"  Probably  that  is  your  amiable  weakness," 
Mason  dryly  responded. 


248 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

MASON  TALKS  ON  MARRIAGE 

Men  are  not  easily  intimate.  They  confide 
in  each  other  rather  seldom.  Of  love  and  mar 
riage  coarse  men  speak  with  sneers  and  obscene 
jests.  Of  these  deep  themes  serious  men  speak 
in  hints,  with  apologetic  smiles,  as  if  they  were 
betraying  a  weakness,  seldom  going  to  any 
length  of  statement.  They  express  their  mean 
ing  in  broken  sentences — in  indirect  statements. 

Sanborn  had  known  Mason  for  some  years. 
They  were  both  from  the  country  ;  Mason  from 
a  small  interior  town  in  Illinois,  Sanborn  from 
Indiana.  Mason  was  an  older  man  than  San 
born,  and  generally  presumed  upon  it,  also  upon 
Sanborn's  reticence. 

They  rode  up  the  elevator  in  the  Berkeley 
flats  in  silence,  and  in  silence  they  removed  their 
coats  and  filled  their  pipes,  and  took  seats  before 
the  fire.  Mason  was  accustomed  to  say  he  sup 
ported  two  rooms  and  an  open  grate  fire,  and  he 
regretted  it  was  not  cold  enough  to  have  the 
grate  lighted  for  that  evening. 

They  sat  some  minutes  in  smoke.  Mason 
249 


ROSE  OF  DUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

sitting  low  in  his  chair,  with  face  in  repose, 
looked  old  and  tired,  and  Sanborn  was  moved 
to  say: 

"  Mason,  I  'm  going  to  ask  you  a  plump 
question:  Why  do  n't  you  get  married?  You're 
getting  old. " 

"  I  've  tried  to." 

"What!  tried  to?" 

"  Exactly." 

"That  is  incredible!" 

"It  is  the  fact,"  replied  the  older  man, 
placidly. 

Sanborn  did  not  believe  it.  He  knew  Mason 
to  be  somewhat  seclusive  in  his  life,  but  he  also 
knew  the  high  place  he  held  in  the  eyes  of  sev 
eral  women. 

Mason  went  on  finally,  in  his  best  manner, 
as  Sanborn  called  it. 

"  For  ten  years  I  've  been  trying  to  marry, 
and  I  've  been  conscientious  and  thorough  in  my 
heart,  too." 

Sanborn  was  violently  interested.  He  drew 
a  long  breath  of  smoke. 

"What  seems  to  be  the  matter  ? " 

"  Do  n't  hurry  me.  For  one  thing,  I  suppose 
I  've  gone  too  far  in  my  knowledge  of  women. 
I  've  gone  beyond  the  capability  of  being  bam 
boozled.  I  see  too  much  of  the  ropes  and  props 
.that  do  sustain  the  pasteboard  rosetree." 

"That  is  flat  blasphemy,"  put  in  Sanborn. 
250 


MASON  TALKS  ON  MARRIAGE 

"  I  know  more  about  women  than  you  do, 
and  — " 

"  I  do  n't  mean  to  say  that  women  deceive  in 
a  base  way — often  they  are  not  intentionally  de 
ceptive;  but  hereditarily-transmitted,  necessarily 
defensive  wiles  lead  them  to  turn  their  best  side 
toward  men.  Before  I  was  thirty  I  could  still 
call  upon  a  young  woman  without  observing  she 
received  me  in  a  room  shadowed  to  conceal  her 
crows-feet.  The  pre-arranged  position  of  the 
chairs  and  color  of  the  lamp-shade  did  not 
trouble  me." 

He  seemed  to  pause  over  some  specific  case. 
"And  once  I  believed  a  girl  wore  a  patch  on  her 
chin  to  conceal  a  sore.  Now  I  know  she  does  it 
to  locate  a  dimple.  I  know  perfectly  well  what 
any  young  woman  would  do  if  I  called  upon  her 
to-morrow.  She  would  take  a  seat  so  that  the 
softest  shadows  would  fall  over  her  face.  If  she 
had  good  teeth  she  would  smile  often.  If  her 
teeth  were  poor  she  would  be  grave.  If  her  arms 
were  fair  her  sleeves  would  be  loose,  if  they  were 
thin  she  'd  wear  ruffles.  If  she  had  a  fine  bosom 
her  dress  would  be  open  a  little  at  the  neck  — " 

"  O  look  here,  Mason  ! "  Sanborn  interrupted, 
"I  can't  listen  to  such  calumny  without  pro 
test." 

"  I  do  n't  mean  to  say  that  all  this  would  be 
conscious.  As  a  matter  of  fact  it  is  innocent 
and  unintentional.  A  woman  does  not  delib- 

251 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

erately  say :  '  I  have  a  dimple,  therefore  I  will 
smile.'  She  inherited  the  dimples  and  the  smile 
from  a  long  line  of  coquettes.  Women  are 
painfully  alike  from  generation  to  generation. 
It's  all  moonshine  and  misty  sky  about  their 
infinite  variety." 

"Suppose  I  grant  that — who's  to  blame? 
mind  you  I  don't  grant  it  —  but  suppose  I  do, 
for  argument." 

"  You  are  a  lover  and  a  fortunate  man.  You 
have  in  Isabel  a  woman  of  character.  Mark  you  ! 
These  wiles  and  seductions  on  the  part  of  wo 
men  were  forced  upon  them.  I  admit  that  they 
have  been  forced  to  use  them  in  defense  for  a 
million  years.  Had  they  been  our  physical  su 
periors  unquestionably  the  lying  graces  would 
have  been  ours.  At  the  same  time  it  doesn't 
help  me.  I  can 't  trust  such  past-masters  in  deceit, 
albeit  they  deceive  me  to  my  good." 

"Are  we  not  deceptive  also  ?  It  seems  to  me 
the  same  indictment  would  hold  regarding 
men." 

"Undoubtedly  —  but  we  are  not  now  under 
indictment.  You  asked  me  a  question  —  I  am 
answering  it."  This  silenced  Sanborn  effect 
ually.  Mason  refilled  his  pipe  and  then  re 
sumed  : 

"Again, I  can  't  seem  to  retain  a  vital  interest 
in  any  given  case  —  that  is  to  say,  an  exclusive 
interest." 

252 


MASON  TALKS  ON  MARRIAGE 

"That  is  a  relic  of  polygamy,"  Sanborn  said. 
"  I  imagine  we  all  have  moments  when  we  feel 
that  old  instinct  tumbling  around  in  our  blood." 

"  I  meet  a  woman  to-day  who  seems  to  pos 
sess  that  glamour  which  the  romantic  poets  and 
high-falutin  novelists  tell  us  the  woman  of  our 
choice  must  have.  I  go  home  exulting  —  at  last 
I  am  to  reach  the  mystic  happiness  marriage  is 
supposed  to  bring.  But  to-morrow  I  meet  her 
and  the  glamour  is  faded.  I  go  again  and  again, 
every  spark  of  electric  aureole  vanishes  ;  we  get 
to  be  good  friends,  maybe — nothing  more." 

"  Perhaps  a  friendship  like  that  is  the  best 
plane  for  a  marriage.  Isabel  and  I  have  never 
pretended  to  any  school-boy  or  school-girl  sen 
timent." 

Mason  replied  in  such  wise  Sanborn  did  not 
know  whether  to  think  him  bitterly  in  earnest 
or  only  lightly  derisive. 

"  That  would  overturn  all  the  sentiment  and 
love-lore  of  a  thousand  years.  It  would  make 
every  poet  from  Sappho  down  to  Swinburne  a 
pretender  or  a  madman.  Such  ideas  are  su 
preme  treason  to  all  the  inspired  idiots  of  poetry. 
No  !  glamour  we  must  have." 

Sanborn  smiled  broadly,  but  Mason  did  not 
see  him. 

"  So  I  say,  marry  young  or  marry  on  the  im 
pulse,  or  you  '11  come  at  last  to  my  condition, 
when  no  head  wears  an  aureole." 

253 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

"  I  wonder  what  started  you  off  on  this  trail, 
Mason?" 

Mason  pushed  on  resolutely  : 

"  I  have  become  interested  and  analytical  in 
the  matter.  I  follow  up  each  case  and  catalogue 
it  away.  This  failure  due  to  a  distressing  giggle ; 
that  to  an  empty  skull;  this  to  a  bad  com 
plexion  ;  that  to  a  too  ready  sentiment.  If  I 
could  marry  while  the  glamour  lasts  !  I  admit  I 
have  met  many  women  whose  first  appeal  filled 
me  with  hope ;  if  I  might  contrive  to  marry  then 
it  might  be  done  once  for  all.  That,  of  course, 
is  impossible,  because  no  woman,  I  am  forced  to 
admit,  would  discover  any  seductive  glamour  in  a 
taffy-colored  blond  like  me.  My  glamour  comes 
out  upon  intimate  acquaintance." 

"  Perhaps  the  glamour  needed  could  be  devel 
oped  on  closer  acquaintance  with  women  who 
seem  plain  at  first  sight." 

"  Possibly  !  But  I  can  't  go  about  developing 
glamour  in  strange,  plain  women.  They  might 
not  understand  my  motives." 

Sanborn  laughed  dismally. 

"  Then  the  case  seems  to  me  hopeless." 

"  Precisely.  The  case  seems  hopeless.  After 
ten  years  careful  study  of  the  matter  I  have  come 
to  the  conclusion  that  I  was  born  to  something 
besides  matrimony.  Cases  of  glamour  get  less 
and  less  common  now,  and  I  foresee  the  time 


254 


MASON  TALKS  ON  MARRIAGE 

when  the  most  beautiful  creature  in  the  world 
will  possess  no  glamour." 

Sanborn  imaginatively  entered  into  this 
gloomy  mood.  "  Nothing  will  then  remain  but 
death." 

"  Exactly !  Peaceful  old  age  and  decay.  But 
there  are  deeper  deeps  to  this  marriage  question, 
as  I  warn  you  now  on  the  eve  of  your  venture. 
I  find  in  myself  a  growing  inability  to  conceive 
of  one  woman  in  the  light  of  an  exclusive  ideal, 
an  ideal  of  more  interest  than  all  the  world  of 
women.  I  am  troubled  by  the '  possible  woman.'  " 

"I  don't  quite  conceive " 

"  I  mean  the  woman  who  might,  quite  possibly, 
appeal  to  me  in  a  more  powerful  and  beautiful 
way  than  the  one  I  have.  I  am  not  prepared  as 
I  approach  the  point  to  say  I  will  love  and 
cherish  till  death.  In  the  unknown  deeps  of  life 
there  are  other  women,  more  alluring,  more 
beautiful  still.  So  I  must  refuse  to  make  a 
promise  which  I  am  not  sure  I  can  keep." 

"  Isabel  and  I  have  agreed  to  leave  that  out 
of  our  ceremony,"  said  Sanborn;  "also  the 
clause  which  demands  obedience  from  her." 

"I  am  watching  you.  If  your  experiment 
succeeds,  and  I  can  find  a  woman  as  fine  and 
sensible  and  self-reliant — but  there  again  my 
confounded  altruism  comes  in.  I  think  also  of 
the  woman.  Ought  I  to  break  into  the  orderly 


255 


ROSE   OF   BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

progress  of  her  life  ?  I  can  't  afford  to  throw 
myself  away,  I  can  't  afford  to  place  a  barrier 
between  me  and  the  '  possible  woman,'  and,  per 
contra,  neither  can  the  woman  afford  to  make  a 
mistake;  it  bears  harder  upon  women  than  it 
does  upon  men.  When  the  glorious  'possible 
woman '  comes  along  I  want  to  be  free.  So  the 
woman  might  reasonably  want  to  be  free  when 
the  ideal  man  comes  along." 

"  If  you  really  love,  these  considerations  would 
not  count." 

Mason  waved  a  silencing  palm. 

"  That  will  do.  I  've  heard  those  wise  words 
before.  I  am  ready  to  be  submerged  in  such 
excluding  emotions." 

"  Mason,"  said  Sanborn,  "  one  of  two  things 
I  must  believe  :  Either  that  you  have  fallen  in 
love  with  that  superb  country  girl  tonight  or 
you  've  been  giving  me  a  chapter  from  your  new 
novel." 

Mason  looked  around  with  a  mystic  gleam  in 
his  eyes. 

"  Well,  which  is  it  ?  " 


256 


CHAPTER  XIX 

ROSE  SITS  IN  THE  BLAZE  OF  A   THOUSAND  EYES 

Life  quickened  for  the  coule"  girl.  She  accom 
modated  herself  to  the  pace  of  the  daily  papers 
with  instant  facility.  She  studied  the  amusement 
columns,  and  read  the  book  reviews,  and  fre 
quented  the  beautiful  reading  room  of  the  New- 
berry  library.  She  went  to  all  the  matinees,  tak 
ing  gallery  tickets,  of  course,  ever  mindful  of  her 
slender  resources — studying  as  truly,  as  intently, , 
as  if  she  were  still  at  college. 

She  had  told  her  father  that  three  hundred 
dollars  would  carry  her  through  till  June,  and 
she  was  determined  it  should  do  so.  She  had 
not  begun  to  think  of  any  work  to  do  beyond  her 
writing.  Her  mind  was  still  in  unrest  —  here 
life's  problem  was  seemingly  more  difficult  of 
solution  than  ever. 

She  took  hold  upon  the  city  with  the  powes 
of  a  fresh  mind  capable  of  enormous  feeling  and 
digesting.  She  seemed  to  be  in  the  world  at 
last,  plunged  in  it,  enveloped  by  it,  and  she  came 
to  delight  in  the  roar  and  tumult  of  it  all,  as  if 
it  were  the  sound  of  winds  and  waters;  and  each 

257 


ROSE  OF  DUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

day  she  entered  upon  a  little  wider  circle  of  ad 
venture.     Once  the  first  confusion  was  past,  the 
movement  and  faces  of  the  crowds  were  of  endless 
interest  to  her.     She  walked  down  into  the  city 
every  day,  returning  to  her  little  nook  in  the 
noisy  flat  building,  as  the  young  eagle  to  its  eerie 
above  the  lashing  tree-tops.  She  was  sitting  above 
the  tumult,  as  Mr.  Mason  had  advised  her  to  do. 
She  came  soon  to  know  that  the  west  side  of 
State  street  was  tabooed  by  wealthy  shoppers, 
who  bought  only  on  the  east  side ;  that  Wabash 
avenue  was  yet  more  select,  and  that  no  one  who 
owned   a   carriage   ever  traded  in  the   bargain 
stores.     She  did  all  her  shopping  there  because 
I  it  was  cheaper,  but  deep  in  her  heart  she  felt  no 
•  kinship  with  the  cross,  hurrying,  pushing,  per- 
I  spiring  crowds  in  the  bargain  stores.  Her  place  was 
I  among  the  graceful,  leisurely,  beautifully  attired 
f*groups  of  people  on  the  east  side  of  State  street. 
i  She  was  not  troubled  at  this  stage  of  her  develop- 
I  ment  by  any  idea  of  being  faithful  to  the  people 
I  of  her  own  material  condition  and  origin.     She 
had  always  loved  the  graces  and  cleanlinesses  of 
life,  and  her  father,   she  knew  to  be  a  man  of 
Innate  refinement.    The  idea  of  caste,  of  arbitrary 
classes  of  people,  had  only  come  to  her  newly  or 
tbscurely  through  newspapers  or  novels.     She 
did  not  like  dirty  people,  nor  surly  people,  nor 
.'boorish  people.     In  fact,  she  did  not  class  people 
,at  all;  they  were  individuals  with  her  yet.     She 

258 


IN  THE  BLAZE  OF  A  THOUSAND  EYES 

#vas  allured  by  the  conditions  of  life  on  the  Lake 
£hore  Drive  because  the  people  lived  such  quiet, 
*clean  and  joyous  lives  apparently,  with  time  to 
think  and  be  kind. 

She  met  few  people  outside  of  the  little  circle 
at  the  boarding  house,  and  an  occasional  visiting 
friend  of  Miss  Fletcher  or  Mr.  Taylor.  Owen 
she  saw  much  of,  and  he  pleased  her  greatly. 
He  was  a  man  she  could  have  married  under 
some  circumstances.  He  had  means  aplenty; 
he  was  an  unusual  character,  clean-souled,  almost 
elemental  in  his  simple  sincerity,  but  she  consid 
ered  him  committed  to  Mary,  and,  besides,  Mason 
had  become  a  deterring  cause,  though  she  hardly 
realized  that. 

Through  all  the  days  which  followed  that  even 
ing  at  Dr.  Herrick's  she  saw  his  face  with  grow 
ing  distinctness.  It  was  not  a  genial  face,  but 
it  was  one  to  remember,  a  face  of  power.  The 
line  of  the  lips,  the  half-averted  chin,  marked 
Mason's  attitude  to  be  one  of  disgust  or  weari 
ness.  He  was  the  most  powerful  man  she  had 
ever  known,  a  man  of  critical  insight,  and  for 
that  reason  especially  she  had  sought  in  her  last 
reading  to  please  him.  She  had  failed,  and  so 
she  was  afraid  to  see  him  again.  When  Isabel 
said  to  her : 

"  Mason  is  a  man  you  should  know.  He  can 
do  a  great  deal  for  you  in  the  city,"  Rose  re 
plied  in  her  blunt  fashion: 

259 


ROSE   OF   BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

"I  don't  want  him  to  do  anything  for  me." 

"  O  yes,  you  do!  He  's  really  a  kind-hearted 
man.  He  puts  on  a  manner  which  scares  peo 
ple  sometimes,  but  he  's  a  man  of  the  highest 
character.  He  's  the  greatest  thinker  I  ever 
met  —  O  I  'm  not  disloyal  to  Dr.  Sanborn,  he  's 
the  best  man  I  ever  met."  There  was  a  story  in 
that  tender  inflection.  "  So  you  must  let  me 
send  in  something  to  Warren,  and  let  him  ad 
vise  you." 

Rose  finally  consented,  but  it  seemed  to 
her  like  laying  an  only  child  upon  the  rack. 
She  had  come  almost  to  fear,  certainly  to  dread, 
that  strange,  imperturbable  man.  His  abiding- 
place  and  his  office  were  alike  so  far  removed 
from  any  manner  of  living  she  had  knowledge 
of.  He  concealed  his  own  likes  and  dislikes  so 
effectually  that  not  even  Isabel  (as  she  con 
fessed)  could  learn  them. 

A  few  days  after  putting  her  packet  of  poems 
into  Isabel's  hands  Rose  received  a  note  from 
her  asking  her  to  come  over  and  see  her  —  that 
she  had  an  invitation  for  her. 

"We  are  invited,  you  and  Dr.  Sanborn  and 
I,  to  sit  in  a  box  at  the  symphony  concert  Sat- 
.urday  night,  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Harvey.  Mrs. 
Harvey  is  one  of  my  dearest  friends,  and  I  've 
stalked  about  you  so  much  she  is  eager  to  see 


Rose  took  the  matter  very  quietly.     She  was 
260 


IN  THE  BLAZE  OF  A  THOUSAND  EYES 

mightily  pleased,  but  she  was  not  accustomed 
to  gushing  her  thanks;  besides,  she  had  re 
covered  her  equilibrium. 

Isabel  was  a  little  surprised  at  her  coolness, 
but  was  keen  enough  to  see  that  she  did  not 
mean  to  be  ungrateful. 

"I  thought  perhaps  you'd  like  to  advise 
about  dress,"  she  said.  "The  boxes  are  very 
brilliant,  but  you  '11  look  well  in  anything. 
You  won't  need  a  bonnet,  your  hair  is  so  pretty, 
and  that  little  grey  dress  will  do,  with  a  little 
change." 

"You  know  I  'm  a  farmer's  daughter,"  Rose 
explained;  "  I  can  't  afford  new  dresses  in  order 
to  go  to  the  opera." 

"I  understand,  my  dear.  I  have  my  own 
limitations  in  that  way.  I  keep  one  or  two 
nice  gowns  and  the  rest  of  the  time  I  wear 
a  uniform.  I  told  Mrs.  Harvey  you  were  poor 
like  myself,  and  that  we  'd  need  to  be  the 
background  for  her,  and  she  said  she  'd  trust 
me." 

What  Mrs.  Harvey  had  said  was  this:  "My 
dear  Isabel,  you  've  got  judgment,  and  if  you 
say  the  girl 's  worth  knowing  I  want  to  know 
her.  And  if  you  say  the  girl  will  be  present 
able  I  'd  like  to  have  her  come.  The  boys  are 
both  in  New  York,  anyway,  and  we  've  got  three 
unoccupied  seats." 

"  Now  you  come  over  to  dinner  with  me  Sat- 
261 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

urday ;  come  at  five.  I  want  you  to  help  me 
dress.  Doctor  will  be  over,  and  we  '11  have  a 
nice  time  before  the  carriage  comes." 

Rose  was  much  more  elated  than  she  cared  to 
show.  Once  as  she  sat  in  the  gallery  of  the  the 
atre  and  looked  at  the  boxes  she  had  shut  her 
teeth  in  a  vow  :  "  I  '11  sit  there  where  you  do, 
one  of  these  days  ! "  and  now  it  had  come  in  a 
few  weeks  instead  of  years  —  like  a  fairy  gift. 
She  told  Mary  nothing  about  her  invitation  for 
several  days.  She  dreaded  her  outcry,  which 
was  inescapable. 

"  Oh  !  isn't  that  fine  !  How  you  do  get  ahead 
- — what  will  you  wear?" 

"  I  have  n't  a  bewildering  choice,"  Rose  said. 
"  I  thought  I  'd  wear  my  grey  dress." 

"  Oh,  this  is  a  wonderful  chance  for  you ! 
Can  't  you  afford  a  new  dress?" 

"  No,  I  'm  afraid  not.  There  is  n't  time  now, 
anyway.  I  '11  keep  close  to  the  wall.  Fortu 
nately  I  have  a  new  cloak  that  will  do." 

"Well,  that  grey  dress  is  lovely — when    it's 
on  you." 

Rose  hated  the  bother  about  the  dress. 

"  I  wish  I  could  wear  a  dress  suit  like  a 
man,"  she  said  to  Isabel  when  they  were  in  the 
midst  of  the  final  stress  of  it. 

"  So  do  I,  but   we  can  't.       There 's  a   law 
against  it,  I  believe.     Now  I  'm  going  to  dress 
your  hair  for  you.    That  is,  I  'm  going  to  super- 
262 


IN  THE  BLAZE  OF  A  THOUSAND  EYES 

intend  it  and  Etta's  deft  little  fingers  shall  do  the 
work." 

After  dinner,  Isabel  ordered  things  cleared 
and  said  to  Sanborn  : 

"  Doctor,  you  go  and  smoke  while  we  put  on 
our  frills." 

Sanborn  acquiesced  readily  enough. 

"Very  well  —  if  you  find  me  gone  when  you 
come  forth,  do  n't  worry.  I  've  gone  ahead  with 
my  friend  Yerkes.  Your  carriage  will  be  full 
anyhow." 

"  All  right."  She  went  over  and  gave  him  a 
hug.  "You're  a  good,  obedient  boy — that's 
what  you  are!" 

He  spoke  (with  his  chin  over  her  wrist)  ad 
dressing  Rose  : 

"The  study  of  chemicals  and  nerve  tissues 
has  not  left  us  utterly  desolate,  you  perceive." 

When  they  were  in  their  dressing  room,  Rose 
asked  what  the  Doctor  meant  by  that  speech. 

Isabel  laughed  and  colored  a  little  : 

"  Oh,  he  meant  that  a  study  of  bones  and 
muscles  and  diseased  bodies  had  not  made  us 
prosaic  and  —  and  old.  I  think  it  has  made  me 
still  more  in  love  with  healthy  human  flesh — 
but  never  mind  that  now;  we  must  hurry." 

Rose  looked  at  Isabel  in  silent  worship  as 
she  stood  before  her  ready  for  the  carriage. 
Her,  ordinarily,  cold  little  face  glowed  with 
color,  and  her  eyes  were  full  of  mirthful  gleams 

263 


ROSE   OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

like  a  child's.  It  seemed  impossible  that  she 
had  written  a  treatise  on  "  Nervous  Diseases," 
•  and  was  ranked  among  the  best  alienists  in  the 
city. 

Etta  made  no  secret  of  her  adoration.  She 
fairly  bowed  down  before  her  sister  and  before 
Rose  also.  She  was  so  little  and  so  common 
place  before  these  beings  of  light. 

Down  at  the  carriage  it  was  too  dark  to  see 
any  one  distinctly,  but  Rose  liked  the  cordial, 
hearty  voice  of  Mrs.  Harvey.  Mr.  Harvey's 
hand  was  small  and  firm,  Mrs.  Harvey's  plump 
and  warm.  Mr.  Harvey  spoke  only  once  or 
twice  during  the  ride. 

As  the  carriage  rumbled  and  rolled  southward 
at  a  swift  pace,  Rose  kept  watch  out  of  the  win 
dow.  The  street  had  not  lost  a  particle  of  its 
power  over  her. 

As  they  plunged  deeper  into  the  city,  and  the 
roll  of  other  carriages  thickened  around  them, 
the  importance  of  this  event  grew  upon  Rose. 
She  was  bewildered  when  they  alighted,  but 
concealed  it  by  impassivity,  as  usual.  The  car 
riages  stood  in  long  rows  waiting  to  unload. 
Others  were  rolling  swiftly  away  ;  doors  slammed ; 
voices  called,  "All  right!"  A  mighty  stream  of 
people  was  entering  the  vast  arched  entrance, 
with  rustle  of  garments  and  low  murmur  of 
laughing  comment.  Rose  caught  the  flash  of 
beautiful  eyes  and  the  elusive  gleam  of  jewels  on 
264 


IN  THE  BLAZE  OF  A  THOUSAND  EYES 

every  side,  as  the  ladies  bowed  to  their  acquaint 
ances. 

Everything  was  massive,  and  spacious  and 
enduring.  The  entrance  way  was  magnificent, 
and  Rose  followed  Mr.  Harvey  as  if  in  a  dream. 
They  took  a  mysterious  short  cut  somewhere, 
and  came  out  into  a  narrow  balcony,  which  was 
divided  into  stalls.  Through  arched  openings 
Rose  caught  glimpses  of  the  mighty  hall,  im 
mense  as  a  mountain  cave,  and  radiant  as  a  flower. 

As  they  moved  along,  Mrs.  Harvey  turned  to 
Isabel. 

"  She  '11  do;  do  n't  worry!" 

At  their  box  Mr.  Harvey  paused  and  said, 
with  a  pleasant  smile  : 

"  Here  we  are." 

Dr.  Sanborn  met  them,  and  there  was  a 
bustle  getting  wraps  laid  away. 

"  You  sit  here,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Harvey. 
She  was  a  plump,  plain,  pleasant-voiced  person, 
and  put  Rose  at  ease  at  once.  She  gave  Rose 
the  outside  seat,  and  before  she  realized  it  the 
coul£  girl  was  seated  in  plain  view  of  a  thousand 
people,  under  a  soft  but  penetrating  light. 

She  shrank  like  some  nocturnal  insect  sud 
denly  brought  into  sunlight.  She  turned  white, 
and  then  the  blood  flamed  to  her  face  and  neck. 
She  sprang  up. 

"  O,  Mrs.  Harvey,  I  can 't  sit  here,"  she 
gasped  out. 

265 


ROSE   OF   BUTCHER'S   COOLLY 

"  You  must!  — that  is  the  place  for  you,"  said 
Mrs.  Harvey.  "  Do  you  suppose  an  old  house 
wife  like  me  would  occupy  a  front  seat  with  such 
a  beauty  in  the  background  ?  Not  a  bit  of  it ! 
The  public  welfare  demands  that  you  sit  there." 
She  smiled  into  the  scared  girl's  face  with  kindly 
humor. 

Isabel  leaned  over  and  said ;  "  Sit  there; 
you  're  magnificent." 

Rose  sank  back  into  her  seat,  and  stared 
straight  ahead.  She  felt  as  if  something  hot  and 
withering  were  blowing  on  that  side  of  her  face 
which  was  exposed  to  the  audience.  She  wished 
she  had  not  allowed  the  neck  of  her  dress  to  be 
widened  an  inch.  She  vowed  never  again  to  get 
into  such  a  trap. 

Mr.  Harvey  talked  to  her  from  behind  her 
chair.  He  was  very  kindly  and  thoughtful,  and 
said  just  enough  to  let  her  feel  his  presence,  and 
not  enough  to  weary  her. 

Gradually  the  beauty  and  grandeur  of  the 
scene  robbed  her  of  her  absurd  self-conscious 
ness.  She  did  not  need  to  be  told  that  this  was 
the  heart  and  brain  of  Chicago.  This  was  the 
Chicago  she  had  dreamed  about.  A  perfumed 
rustling  rose  from  below  her.  Around  her  the 
boxes  filled  with  women  in  gowns  of  pink  and 
rose  and  blue,  and  faint  green.  Human  flowers 
they  were,  dewed  with  diamonds.  All  about 
was  the  movement  of  orderly,  leisurely,  happy- 
266 


IN  THE  BLAZE  OF  A  THOUSAND  EYES 

toned  and  dignified  men  and  women.  All  was 
health,  pleasure,  sanity,  kindliness.  Wealth 
here  displayed  its  wondrous  charm,  its  peace, 
its  poetry. 

Her  romantic  conception  of  these  people  had 
done  them  an  injustice.  She  had  clothed  them 
with  the  attributes  of  the  men  and  women  of 
English  society  novels  and  New  York  imitations 
of  these  novels.  This  Mr.  Harvey  did  not  know, 
but  he  helped  her  to  rectify  her  mistaken  esti 
mate  of  the  people  around  her  by  saying  : 

"  We  business  men  can  't  get  out  to  the  Fri 
day  rehearsals,  but  Saturday  night  finds  us 
ready  to  enjoy  an  evening  of  art." 

He  looked  very  handsome  in  his  dress  suit, 
and  his  face  was  very  pleasant  to  see,  yet  Isabel 
had  told  her  that  not  only  was  he  a  hard-work 
ing  business  man,  but  a  man  of  wide  interests, 
a  great  railway  director,  in  fact. 

"  I  suppose  you  know  many  of  the  people 
here,"  she  said  at  last. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  he  replied,  "  I  know  most  of 
them.  Chicago  is  large,  but  some  way  we  still 
keep  track  of  people  here." 

As  he  talked,  she  got  courage  to  raise  her 
eyes  to  the  roof,  soaring  far  up  above,  glowing 
with  color.  Balcony  after  balcony  circled  at  the 
back,  and  Rose  thought  with  a  little  flush  that 
perhaps  Owen  and  Mary  were  sitting  up  in  one 
of  those  balconies  and  could  see  her  in  the  box. 
267 


ROSE  OF   BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

The  hall  was  buff  and  light-blue  to  her  eyes, 
and  the  procession  of  figures  over  the  arch,  the 
immense  stage,  the  ceiling,  the  lights,  all  were 
of  great  beauty  and  interest. 

But  the  people  !  the  beautiful  dresses  !  the 
dainty  bonnets  !  the  flow  of  perfumed  drapery ! 
the  movement  of  strong,  clean,  supple  limbs  !  — 
these  were  the  most  glorious  sights  of  all.  She 
had  no  room  for  envy  in  her  heart.  She  was 
very  happy,  for  she  seemed  to  have  reached  a 
share  in  ultimate  magnificence. 

She  longed  for  gowns  and  bonnets  like  these, 
but  there  was  no  bitterness  in  her  longing. 

She  herself  was  a  beautiful  picture  as  she  sat 
there.  From  her  bust,  proud  and  maternal,  rose 
her  strong  smooth  neck,  and  young,  graceful 
reflective  head.  If  the  head  had  been  thrown 
back  she  would  have  seemed  arrogant ;  with  that 
reflective,  forward  droop,  she  produced  upon  the 
gazer  an  effect  both  sweet  and  sad.  In  the  proud 
bust  was  prophecy  of  matronly  beauty,  and  also 
of  the  freshness  of  youth. 

Mason,  seated  below  among  a  group  of  mu 
sical  critics,  looked  at  her  with  brooding  eyes. 
At  that  moment  she  seemed  to  be  the  woman  he 
had  long  sought.  Certainly  the  glamour  was 
around  her  then.  She  sat  above  him  and  her 
brown  hair  and  rich  coloring  stood  out  from  the 
drapery  like  a  painting.  A  chill  came  over  him 
as  he  thought  of  the  letter  he  had  sent  to  her 
268 


IN  THE  BLAZE  OF  A  THOUSAND  EYES 

that  very  morning.  It  was  brutal;  he  could  see 
it  now.  He  might  have  put  the  criticism  in 
softer  phrases. 

Isabel  leaned  over  and  spoke  to  Rose  and 
then  Rose  began  searching  for  him.  He  was 
amazed  to  feel  a  thrill  of  excitement  as  he  saw 
that  strong,  dark  face  turned  toward  him;  and 
when  his  eyes  met  her's  he  started  a  little,  as  if  a 
ray  of  light  had  fallen  suddenly  upon  him.  She 
colored  a  little,  he  thought,  and  bowed.  Where 
did  the  girl  acquire  that  regal,  indifferent  incli 
nation  of  the  head  ?  It  was  like  a  princess 
dropping  a  favor  to  a  faithful  subject,  but  it 
pleased  him.  "The  girl  has  imagination!"  he 
said.  "  She  claims  her  own." 

Then  he  meditated:  "What  an  absurdity! 
Why  should  I  fix  upon  that  girl,  when  here,  all 
about  me  are  other  women  more  beautiful,  and 
rich  and  accomplished,  besides.  That  confounded 
farmer's  girl  has  a  raft  of  stupid  and  vulgar  rel 
atives,  no  doubt,  and  her  refinement  is  a  mere 
appearance." 

He  solaced  himself  with  a  general  reflection. 

"Furthermore,  why  should  any  man  select 
any  woman,  when  they  are  all  dots  and  dashes 
in  a  web  of  human  life,  anyhow  ?  Their  differ 
ences  are  about  like  the  imperceptible  differences 
of  a  flock  of  wrens.  Why  not  go  out  and  marry 
the  first  one  that  offers,  and  so  end  it  all  ?" 

The  mystery  of  human  genius  came  also  to 
269 


ROSE   OF   BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

Rose  as  Mr.  Harvey  pointed  out  to  her  the  city's 
most  noted  men  and  women.  They  were  mere 
dabs  of  color — sober  color,  for  the  most  part — 
upon  this  flood  of  humankind.  She  was  to 
Mason,  probably,  only  a  neutral  spot  in  the 
glorious  band  of  color,  which  swept  in  a  grace 
ful  curve  back  from  the  footlights.  It  was  won 
derful,  also,  to  think  that  these  smiling  men 
were  the  millionaire  directors  of  vast  interests — 
they  seemed  without  a  care  in  the  world. 

At  last  the  stage  chairs  were  all  filled  by  a 
crowd  of  twanging,  booming,  sawing,  squeaking 
instrumentalists.  Then  the  leader,  a  large  man 
of  military  erectness,  came  down  to  the  leader's 
desk  and  bowed,  amidst  thunderous  applause. 
Then  rapping  sharply  on  his  desk  he  brought 
orderly  silence  out  of  the  tumult,  and  the  con 
cert  began. 

The  music  did  not  mean  much  to  Rose  dur 
ing  the  first  half-hour,  for  the  splendor  of  the 
whole  spectacle  dominated  the  appeal  of  the 
instruments.  Such  music  and  such  audiences 
were  possible  only  in  the  largest  cities,  and  that 
consideration  moved  her  deeply.  It  seemed  too 
good  to  be  true  that  she  sat  here  securely,  ready 
to  enjoy  all  that  came.  It  had  come  to  her,  too, 
almost  without  effort,  almost  without  deserving, 
she  felt. 

But  there  came  at  last  a  number  on  the  pro 
gramme  which  dimmed  the  splendor  of  the 
270 


IN  THE  BLAZE  OF  A  THOUSAND  EYES 

spectacle.  The  voice  of  Wagner  came  to  her  for 
the  first  time,  and  shook  her  and  thrilled  her  and 
lifted  her  into  wonderful  regions  where  the  green 
trees  dripped  golden  moss,  and  the  grasses  were 
jeweled  in  very  truth.  Wistful  young  voices 
rose  above  the  lazy  lap  of  waves,  sad  with  love 
and  burdened  with  beauty  which  destroyed. 
Like  a  deep-purple  cloud  death  came,  slowly, 
resistlessly,  closing  down  on  those  who  sang, 
clasped  in  each  other's  arms. 

They   lay  dead  at  last,  and  up  through  the 

purple  cloud  their  spirits  soared  like  gold  and 

silver   flame,    woven    together,    and    the    harsh 

thunder  of  the  gray  sea  died  to  a  sullen  boom. 

******* 

When  she  rose  to  her  feet  the  girl  from 
the  coul£  staggered,  and  the  brilliant,  moving, 
murmuring  house  blurred  into  fluid  color  like  a 
wheel  of  roses. 

The  real  world  was  gone,  the  world  of  imag 
ined  things  lay  all  about  her.  She  felt  the 
power  to  reach  out  her  hand  to  take  fame  and 
fortune. 

In  that  one  reeling  instant  the  life  of  the 
little  coule",  the  lonely,  gentle  old  father,  and  the 
days  of  her  youth — all  her  past — were  pushed 
into  immeasurable  distance.  The  pulling  of 
weeds  in  the  corn,  the  driving  of  cattle  to  pas 
ture  were  as  the  doings  of  ants  in  a  dirt-heap. 

A  vast  pity  for  herself  sprang  up  in  her  brain. 
271 


ROSE   OF   BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

She  wanted  to  do  some  gigantic  thing  which 
should  enrich  the  human  race.  She  felt  the 
power  to  do  this,  too,  and  there  was  a  wonderful 
look  on  her  face  as  she  turned  to  Isabel.  She 
seemed  to  be  listening  to  some  inner  sound 
throbbing  away  into  silence,  and  then  her  com 
prehension  of  things  at  hand  came  back  to  her, 
and  Isabel  was  speaking  to  her. 

"  Here  's  Mr.  Mason  coming  to  speak  to  us," 
interrupted  Mr.  Harvey. 

She  turned  to  watch  him  as  he  came  along 
the  aisle  behind  the  boxes;  her  head  still 
throbbed  with  the  dying  pulsations  of  the  music. 
Everybody  seemed  to  know  and  greet  him  with 
cordial  readiness  of  hand.  He  came  along 
easily,  his  handsome  blonde  face  showing  little 
more  expression  at  meeting  her  than  the  others, 
yet  when  he  saw  her  rapt  and  flushed  face  he 
was  touched. 

"  I  came  to  see  how  Miss  Butcher  was  enjoy 
ing  the  evening." 

Rose  felt  a  sudden  disgust  with  her  name;  it 
sounded  vulgarly  of  the  world  of  weeds  and 
cattle. 

In  some  way  she  found  herself  a  few  mo 
ments  later  walking  out  through  the  iron  gate 
into  the  throng  of  promenaders  back  of  the  seats. 
It  was  the  most  splendid  moment  of  her  life. 
She  forgot  her  fear  of  Mason  in  the  excitement 
of  the  moment.  She  walked  with  hands 
272 


IN  THE  BLAZE  OF  A  THOUSAND  EYES 

clenched  tightly  and  head  lifted.  The  look  on 
her  face,  and  the  burning  color  in  her  face  made 
scores  of  people  turn  to  look  at  her. 

Mason  perceived  but  misinterpreted  her  ex 
citement.  He  mistook  her  entire  self-forgetful- 
ness  for  a  sort  of  vain  personal  exaltation  or 
rapture  of  social  success. 

She  saw  only  dimly  the  mighty  pillars,  the 
massive  arches,  lit  by  stars  of  flame.  She  felt 
the  carpet  under  her  feet  only  as  a  grateful  thing 
which  hushed  the  sound  of  feet. 

They  made  one  circuit  with  the  promenaders, 
Mason  bowing  right  and  left,  and  talking  dis- 
jointedly  upon  indifferent  subjects.  He  felt  the 
tormenting  interest  of  his  friends  in  Rose,  and 
drew  her  out  of  the  crowd. 

"  Let  us  stand  here  and  see  them  go  by,"  he 
said.  "You  liked  the  music,  did  you?" 

His  commonplace  question  fell  upon  her  like 
the  scream  of  a  peacock  amid  songs  of  thrushes. 
It  showed  her  in  a  flash  of  reasoning  of  which 
he  could  not  know,  that  it  was  possible  to  be 
ennuied  with  glorious  harmonies.  Her  mind 
asked,  "  Shall  I,  too,  sometimes  wish  to  talk 
commonplaces  in  the  midst  of  such  glories?" 

"  O, it  was  beyond  words!"  she  said.  And 
then  Mason  was  silent  for  a  little  space.  He 
divined  her  mood  at  last,  but  he  had  something 
to  say  which  should  be  said  before  she  returned 
to  her  box. 

273 


ROSE   OF   BUTCHER'S   COOLLY 

He  began  at  once: 

"  Let  me  say,  Miss  Dutcher,  that  while  the 
main  criticism  of  your  work,  which  I  made  in 
my  note  this  morning,  must  hold,  still  I  feel  the 
phraseology  could  be  much  more  amiable.  The 
fact  is,  I  was  irritated  over  other  matters,  and 
that  irritation  undesignedly  crept  into  my  note 
to  you." 

"  I  have  n't  received  it,"  she  said  looking  di 
rectly  at  him  for  the  first  time. 

"  Well  then,  do  n't  read  it.  I  will  tell  you 
what  I  think  you  ought  to  do." 

"  O,  do  n't  talk  of  it,"  she  said,  and  her  voice 
was  tense  with  feeling.  "  All  I  have  written  is 
tonight  trash!  I  can  see  that.  It  was  all  some 
body  else's  thought.  Do  n't  let 's  talk  of  that 
now." 

He  looked  down  at  her  face,  luminous,  quiver 
ing  with  excitement — and  understood. 

"I  forgot,"  he  said  gently,  "that  this  was 
your  first  concert  at  the  Auditorium.  It  is  beau 
tiful  and  splendid,  even  to  an  habitu£  like  me. 
I  like  to  come  here  and  forget  that  work  or  care 
exists  in  the  world.  I  shall  enjoy  it  all  the 
more  deeply  now  by  reason  of  your  enthusiasm." 

In  the  wide  space  back  of  the  seats  a  great 
throng  of  young  people  were  promenading  to 
the  left,  round  and  round  the  massive  pillars,  in 
leisurely  rustling  swing,  the  men  mainly  in 
dress  suits,  the  ladies  in  soft  luminous  colors; 
274 


IN  THE  BLAZE  OF  A  THOUSAND  EYES 

the  heavy  carpet  beneath  their  feet  gave  out  no 
sound,  and  only  the  throb  of  laughter,  the  mur 
mur  of  speech  and  the  soft  whisper  of  drapery 
was  to  be  heard. 

It  was  all  glorious  beyond  words,  to  the 
imaginative  girl.  It  flooded  her  with  color, 
beauty,  youth,  poetry,  music.  Every  gleaming 
neck  or  flashing  eye,  every  lithe  man's  body, 
every  lover's  deferential  droop  of  head,  every 
woman's  worshipful  upturned  glance,  came  to 
her  with  power  to  arouse  and  transform.  The 
like  of  this  she  had  not  dreamed  of  seeing. 

Nobody  had  told  her  of  this  Chicago. 
Nobody  could  tell  her  of  it,  indeed,  for  no  one 
else  saw  it  as  she  did.  When  Mason  spoke 
again  his  voice  was  very  low  and  gentle.  He 
began  to  comprehend  the  soul  of  the  girl. 

"  I  've  no  business  to  advise  you.  I  've  come 
to  the  conclusion  that  advice  well  followed  is 
ruinous.  Genius  seldom  takes  advice,  and  no 
body  else  is  worth  advising.  I  took  advice  and 
went  into  a  newspaper  office  twenty  years  ago. 
I  've  been  trying  ever  since  to  rectify  my  mis 
take.  I  would  be  a  literary  if  I  were  not  forced 
to  be  a  newspaper  man,  just  when  my  powers  are 
freshest.  I  want  to  write  of  today.  I  want  to 
deal  with  the  city  and  its  life,  but  I  am  forced  to 
advise  people  upon  the  tariff.  I  come  home  at 
night  worn  out  and  the  work  I  do  then  is  only  a 
poor  starveling.  Now,  see  this  audience  tonight! 

275 


ROSE  OF  DUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

There  are  themes  for  you.  See  these  lovers 
walking  before  and  behind  us.  He  may  be  a 
clerk  in  a  bank ;  she  the  banker's  daughter. 
That  man  Harvey,  in  whose  box  you  sit  tonight, 
was  a  farmer's  boy,  and  his  wife  the  daughter  of 
a  Methodist  preacher  in  a  cross-roads  town. 
How  did  they  get  where  they  are,  rich,  influen 
tial,  kindly,  polished  in  manner  ?  What  an 
epic ! " 

"  Are  you  advising  me  now  ?  "  she  asked  with 
a  smile. 

Her  penetration  delighted  him. 

"  Yes,  I  am  saying  now  in  another  way  the 
things  I  wrote.  I  hope,  Miss  Dutcher,  you  will 
burn  that  packet  without  reading.  I  would  not 
write  it  at  all  now." 

They  were  facing  each  other  a  little  out  of 
the  stream  of  people.  She  looked  into  his  face 
with  a  bright  smile,  though  her  eyes  were 
timorous. 

"  Do  you  mean  manuscript  and  all  ?  " 

His  face  was  kind,  but  he  answered  firmly: 

"  Yes,  burn  it  all.     Will  you  do  it  ?  " 

"  If  you  mean  it." 

"  I  mean  it.  You  're  too  strong  and  young 
and  creative  to  imitate  anybody.  Burn  it,  and 
all  like  it.  Start  anew  tonight." 

His  voice  compelled  her  to  a  swift  resolution. 

"  I  will  do  it." 

He  held  out  his  hand  with  a  sudden  gesture, 
276 


IN  THE  BLAZE  OF  A  THOUSAND  EYES 

and  she  took  it.  His  eyes  and  the  clasp  of  his 
hand  made  her  shudder  and  grow  cold,  with 
some  swift,  ominous  foreknowledge  of  distant 
toil  and  sorrow  and  joy. 

The  lights  were  dimmed  mysteriously,  and 
Mason  said  : 

"  They  are  ready  to  begin  again;  we  had  bet 
ter  return." 

He  led  her  back  to  the  box,  and  Mrs.  Harvey 
flashed  a  significant  look  upon  him,  and  said  in 
a  theatrical  aside: 

"Aha !  at  last." 

Isabel  said: 

"  Come  and  see  us  to-morrow  at  six — a '  pow 
wow.'  " 

The  music  which  came  after  could  not  hold 
Rose's  attention.  How  could  it,  in  the  face  of 
the  tremendous  changes  which  were  in  progress 
in  her  brain?  What  had  she  done?  To  an  al 
most  perfect  stranger  she  had  promised  to  burn 
all  the  work  of  her  pen  thus  far. 

And  an  hour  before  she  had  almost  hated, 
certainly  she  had  feared,  that  man.  While  the 
music  throbbed  and  wailed  and  clashed,  she  sat 
with  blood  throbbing  in  her  ears  and  at  her 
throat,  longing  to  cry  out,  to  sing  and  to  weep. 
She  had  said  little  of  late  to  any  one,  but  she  had 
finally  settled  upon  one  ambition — to  write,  to 
be  a  great  poetess.  After  vicissitudes  and  false 
enthusiasm  she  had  come  back  to  the  first  great 
277 


ROSE  OF   BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

ambition  which  she  had  confessed  to  Thatcher 
years  before,  in  the  little  coul£  school-house. 
And  now,  at  the  bidding  of  a  stranger,  she  had 
made  a  promise  to  burn  her  work  and  start 
again. 

But  had  not  the  music  and  the  splendid 
spectacle  before  her  almost  determined  her  be 
fore  he  had  spoken  ? 

Then  she  came  back  to  the  wondrous  gentle 
ness  which  was  in  his  voice,  to  the  amazing 
change  in  his  eyes.  The  man  who  had  held  her 
hand  was  not  the  worn,  cynical  man  she  had 
feared.  He  was  younger  and  handsomer,  too. 
She  shuddered  again,  with  some  powerful  emo 
tion  at  the  thought  of  his  calm,  compelling, 
down-thrusting  glance  into  her  eyes.  His  mind 
appeared  to  her  to  have  a  shoreless  sweep. 

The  music  rose  to  a  pounding,  blaring  climax, 
and  the  audience,  applauding,  began  to  rise  to 
go  home,  breaking  into  streams  and  pools  and 
whirling  masses  of  color. 

"Well,  my  dear,  how  have  you  enjoyed  the 
evening?"  asked  Mrs.  Harvey,  cordially. 

"  Very  much,  indeed.  I  never  can  thank  you 
enough." 

"It  has  been  a  pleasure  to  feel  your  enthusi 
asm.  It  makes  us  all  young  again.  I  've 
asked  Dr.  Herrick  to  bring  you  to  see  us;  I  hope 
you  will  come." 

The  hearty  clasp  of  her  hand  moved  the 
278 


IN  THE  BLAZE  OF  A  THOUSAND  EYES 

motherless  girl  deeply,  and  her  voice  trembled 
with  emotion  as  she  replied: 

"It  will  be  a  great  pleasure  to  me,  Mrs. 
Harvey." 

Mrs.  Harvey  clutched  her  in  her  arms  and 
kissed  her. 

"You  splendid  girl!  I  wish  you  were  mine," 
she  said,  and  thereafter  Rose  felt  no  fear  in  her 
presence. 

"I  do  n't  care  whether  she 's  a  genius  or 
not,"  Mrs  Harvey  said  to  Isabel,  as  they  walked 
out  to  the  carriage.  "  She 's  a  good  girl,  and  I 
like  her,  and  I  '11  help  her.  You  figure  out  any 
thing  I  can  properly  do  and  I  '11  do  it.  I  do  n't 
know  another  girl  who  could  have  carried  off 
that  cheap  little  dress  the  way  she  did.  She 
made  it  look  like  a  work  of  art.  She  's  a  won 
der!  Think  of  her  coming*  from  a  Wisconsin 
farm  ! " 

Isabel  rejoiced. 

"  I  knew  you  'd  like  her."  She  leaned  over 
and  said  in  a  low  voice:  "  I  'd  like  Elbert  to 
see  her." 

Mrs.  Harvey  turned  a  quick  eye  upon  her. 

"  Well,  if  you  are  n't  a  matchmaker  !  " 

As  they  came  out  in  the  throng  it  seemed  as 
if  everybody  knew  the  Harveys  and  Isabel. 
Out  in  the  street  the  cabs  had  gathered,  like 
huge  beetles,  standing  in  patient  rows  in  the 
gaslight. 

279 


ROSE   OF  DUTCHER'S   COOLLY 

The  bellowing  of  numbers,  the  slam  of  car 
riage  doors,  the  grind  of  wheels,  the  shouts  of 
drivers,  made  a  pandemonium  to  Rose,  but  Mr. 
Harvey,  with  the  same  gentle  smile  on  his  face, 
presented  his  ticket  to  the  gigantic  negro,  who 
roared  enormously  : 

"  Ninety-two  !     Ninety-two  !  " 

"  Here  we  are ! "  Mr.  Harvey  called  finally, 
and  handed  the  women  in  with  the  same  un 
hurried  action,  and  the  homeward  ride  began. 
There  was  little  chance  for  talk,  though  Mrs. 
Harvey  did  talk. 

Rose  sat  in  silence.  This  had  been  another 
great  period  of  growth.  She  could  still  feel  the 
heat  and  turmoil  in  her  brain.  It  was  as  if 
upon  a  seed-bed  of  quick-shooting  plants  a 
bright,  warm  light  had  been  turned,  resulting 
in  instant,  magical  activity.  At  her  door  they 
put  her  down,  and  once  more  she  thanked  them. 

•'  It 's  nothing  at  all,  my  dear;  we  hope  to  do 
more  for  you,"  said  Mrs.  Harvey.  "  I  want  you 
to  come  to  dinner  soon.  You  '11  come  ?  " 

"  With  pleasure,"  Rose  responded,  quite  as  a 
man  might  have  done. 


280 


CHAPTER  XX 

ROSE  SETS  FACE  TOWARD  THE   OPEN  ROAD 

When  Rose  reached  her  room,  she  found  the 
packet  of  poems  lying  on  her  desk.  It  had 
come  in  the  afternoon  mail. 

She  sat  down  by  the  toilet  table  with  a  burn 
ing  flush  on  her  face.  A  world  seemed  some  way 
to  lie  between  her  present  self  and  the  writer  of 
those  imitative  verses.  She  wished  to  see,  yet 
feared  to  see  what  he  had  written,  and  taking  up 
the  packet  she  fingered  the  string  while  she 
meditated.  She  had  not  absolutely  promised 
not  to  read  the  letter,  though  she  had  pledged 
herself  to  burn  the  poems. 

Her  life  was  so  suddenly  filled  with  new 
emotions  and  impulses,  that  she  was  bewildered 
by  them.  The  music,  the  audience-room,  the 
splendid  assemblage,  and  some  compelling 
power  in  Mason — all  of  these  (or  he  alone)  had 
changed  her  point  of  view.  It  was  a  little  thing 
to  the  great  city,  a  little  thing  to  him  probably, 
but  to  her  it  was  like  unto  the  war  of  life  and 
death. 

What,  indeed,  was  the  use  of  being  an  echo 
281 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

of  passion,  a  copy  ?  She  had  always  hated  con 
formity  ;  she  hated  to  dress  like  other  girls  ; 
why  should  she  be  without  individuality  in  her 
verse,  the  very  part  where,  as  Mason  had  inti 
mated,  she  should  be  most  herself? 

She  had  the  chance  to  succeed.  The  people 
seemed  ready  to  listen  to  her  if  she  had  some 
thing  to  say  ;  and  she  had  something  to  say  — 
why  not  say  it  ? 

She  arose,  tense  and  white  with  resolution, 
and  opened  the  stove  door  and  dropped  the 
packet  in,  and  closed  the  door  and  held  it  as  if 
she  feared  the  packet  might  explode  in  her  face, 
or  cry  out  at  her.  In  her  poems  she  would  have 
had  the  heroine  fling  it  in  the  grate  and  snatch  it 
out  again,  but  having  no  grate  the  stove  must 
serve,  and  there  could  be  no  snatching  at  the 
packet,  no  remorseful  kisses  of  the  charred  body. 
It  was  gone  in  a  dull  roar. 

She  sat  down  and  waited  till  the  flame  died 
out,  and  then  drew  up  to  her  desk  and  wrote 
swiftly  for  an  hour.  She  grew  sleepy  at  last,  as 
the  tumult  of  her  brain  grew  quieter.  Just  before 
she  went  to  sleep  all  her  lovers  came  before  her: 
Carl,  in  the  strawberry-scented  glade ;  William 
de  Lisle,  shining  of  limb,  courtesying  under  the 
lifting  canvas  roof;  Dr.  Thatcher,  as  he  looked 
that  afternoon  in  the  schoolroom ;  then  Forest 
Darnlee,  with  the  physical  beauty  of  William  De 
i,isle,  but  vain  and  careless;  then  Professor 
282 


ROSE  SETS  FACE  TOWARD  OPEN  ROAD 

Ellis,  seated  at  his  desk  in  the  chalk-laden  air, 
or  perched  on  the  ladder  beneath  the  great 
telescope,  a  man  who  lived  in  abstract  regions 
far  from  sense  and  sound;  then  Tom  Harris, 
lithe,  graceful,  always  smiling — Tom,  who  had 
the*  songs  of  birds,  the  smell  of  flowers,  the 
gleam  of  sunset-water  leagued  with  him — who 
almost  conquered,  but  who  passed  on  like  a  dap 
ple  of  purple  shadow  over  the  lake. 

And  now  she  faced  two  others,  for  she  could 
see  that  Owen  was  turning  to  her  from  Mary, 
and  he  had  great  charm.  He  was  one  of  the 
cleanest-souled  men  she  had  ever  known;  he 
had,  also,  a  strange  touch  of  paganism,  of  mys 
tery,  as  of  free  spaces  and  savage,  unstained 
wildernesses,  and  he  could  give  her  a  home,  and 
he  would  allow  her  freedom.  He  would  be  her 
subject,  not  her  master. 

Then  there  was  Mason — of  him  what  ?  She 
did  not  know.  He  was  outside  her  knowledge 
of  men.  She  could  neither  read  his  face  nor 
understand  his  voice.  He  scared  her  with  a  look 
or  a  phrase.  Sometimes  he  looked  old  and 
cynical,  but  tonight  how  tenderly  and  sympa 
thetically  he  had  spoken!  How  considerately 
silent  he  had  been  ! 

When  she  awoke,  Mary  was  standing  looking 
down  at  her. 

"  If  you  're  going  to  have  any  breakfast,  Rose, 
you'd  better  be  stirring.  It 's  nine  o'clock,  and 

283 


ROSE   OF   DUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

everything's  ready  to  clear  away.  What  kind  of 
time  did  you  have  ?" 

Rose  resented  her  question,  but  forced  her 
self  to  answer: 

"Beautiful!" 

"  I  saw  you  in  the  box.  Owen  and  I  were  in 
the  second  balcony.  You  were  just  scrumptious! 
I  wanted  to  throw  a  kiss  at  you."  She  fell  upon 
Rose  and  squeezed  her,  quilt  and  all,  in  her  long 
arms.  "  My  stars!  I  wish  I  was  lovely  and  a  poet." 

She  had  nothing  but  joy  over  her  idol's  good 
fortune,  and  it  made  Rose  feel  guilty  to  think 
how  resentful  and  secretive  she  had  become. 
There  was  coming  into  her  friendship  with  Mary 
a  feeling  which  prevented  further  confidence — 
a  feeling  that  Mary  was  not  a  suitable  confidant, 
and  could  not  understand  the  subtleties  of  her 
position,  in  which  Rose  was  quite  correct. 

With  Mary,  procedure  was  always  plain  sail 
ing.  Either  she  was  in  love  and  wanted  to 
marry,  or  she  was  n't.  Her  ideals  changed  com 
paratively  little,  and  were  healthily  common 
place.  Her  friendships  were  quick,  warm  and 
stable.  She  was  the  country  girl  in  the  city,  and 
would  be  so  until  death.  If  she  felt  disposed, 
she  chewed  gum  or  ate  an  apple  on  the  street 
like  a  boy,  and  she  walked  on  the  Lake  Shore 
Sunday  evening  with  Owen,  unconscious  (and 
uncaring)  of  the  servant-girls  and  their  lovers 
seated  on  every  bench. 

284 


ROSE  SETS  FACE  TOWARD  OPEN  ROAD 

So  Rose  had  grown  away  from  her  friend. 
She  felt  it  dimly  the  first  week.  She  felt  it  viv 
idly  on  the  morning  after  the  concert,  and  it 
troubled  her.  Her  life  was  too  subtle,  too  com 
plicated  and  too  problematic  for  honest,  freckle- 
faced,  broad-cheeked  Mary  to  analyze. 

Then,  too,  there  was  the  question  of  Owen. 
Soon  Mary  must  see  how  he  set  face  toward  her, 
but  she  felt  quite  equal  to  answering  him  when 
Owen  came  to  speak,  because  his  appeal  to  her 
was  not  in  the  slightest  degree  sensuous,  as  Tom 
Harris'  had  been. 

She  spent  the  day  in  deep  thought,  writing 
some  lines  which  came  to  her,  and  writing  a 
letter  home.  She  filled  it  full  of  love  and  praise 
for  "  pappa  John,"  as  if  in  remorse  for  growing 
so  far  away  from  him. 

That  done  she  fell  back  upon  her  group  of 
friends  ;  upon  the  concert,  upon  thought  of  that 
wonderful  promenade  with  Mason. 

The  world  of  art  seemed  so  secure  and  re 
poseful,  so  filled  with  splendor  of  human 
endeavor.  She  drew  her  breath  in  a  mighty 
inspiration,  and  resolved  to  be  a  part  of  it. 
Art  had  always  seemed  to  her  so  far  off,  some 
thing  European,  and  now  she  seemed  to  be  in 
immediate  contact  with  it,  and  soared  into  ex 
ultation  for  a  day,  falling  soon  into  dreary 
doubt. 

Her  literary  ideals  were  so  hopelessly  con- 

285 


ROSE   OF   DUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

• 

fused.  She  had  lost  the  desire  to  write  as  she 
had  been  writing,  and  there  seemed  nothing  left 
for  her  to  do.  She  had  so  few  convictions  and 
so  little  experience!  The  door  had  closed  upon 
her  old  forms  of  action,  and  yet  the  way  Mason 
had  pointed  out  to  her  was  dark  and  utterly 
bewildering.  She  felt  great  things  moving 
around  her  ;  themes,  deeds  that  were  enormous 
but  not  defined.  She  could  not  quite  lay  hold 
upon  them. 

She  went  down  the  street  to  Dr.  Herrick's 
house,  feeling  that  she  was  committing  herself 
to  something.  She  knew  that  Isabel  had  taken 
her  case  in  hand,  and  that  she  was  to  meet  other 
young  men  there.  She  could  not  resent  it,  for 
the  zeal  of  her  new-found  friend  was  manifestly 
from  the  heart — it  could  not  be  otherwise.  Of 
what  advantage  to  Dr.  Herrick  could  it  be  to 
take  her  up  —  a  poor  country  girl  ? 

In  fact,  she  was  puzzled  by  this  overpowering 
kindness.  There  was  so  little  apparent  reason 
for  it  all.  She  could  not,  of  course,  understand 
the  keen  delight  of  introducing  a  powerful  and 
fresh  young  mind  to  the  wonders  of  the  city. 
She  had  not  grown  weary  of  "  sets  "  and  "  cir 
cles,"  and  of  meeting  the  same  commonplace 
people  again  and  again,  as  Mrs.  Harvey  had. 
Isabel's  position  was  different,  but  she  had  an 
equal  delight,  more  subtle  and  lasting,  in  seeing 


286 


ROSE  SETS  FACE  TOWARD  OPEN  ROAD 

the  genius  (as  she  believed)  of  the  girl  win  its 
way,  and  besides,  the  girl,  herself,  pleased  her 
mightily. 

Isabel  Herrick's  life  was  one  of  deep  earn 
estness  and  high  aims.  She  was  the  daughter  of 
a  physician  in  an  interior  city.  She  had  worked 
her  way  up  from  the  bottom  in  the  usual  Ameri 
can  fashion  by  plucky  efforts  constantly  directed 
to  one  end,  and  was  the  head  of  the  house  of 
Herrick,  which  consisted  of  her  young  sister,  a 
brother  at  college  and  her  aged  mother,  now  an 
invalid. 

She  had  been  one  of  the  first  three  girls  to 
enter  the  medical  school,  and  she  had  been  their 
shield  and  fortress  in  the  storm  which  followed 
their  entrance  into  the  dissecting  room.  The 
battle  was  short  but  decisive.  Her  little  head 
was  lifted  and  her  face  white  as  she  said: 

"  Men — I  won't  say  gentlemen — I  'm  here  for 
business,  and  I  'm  here  to  stay.  If  you  're  afraid 
of  competition  from  a  woman  you  'd  better  get 
out  of  the  profession." 

In  the  dead  silence  which  followed  a  lank 
country  fellow  stepped  out  and  raised  his  voice. 

"  She  's  right,  and  I  'm  ready  to  stand  by  her, 
and  I  '11  see  she  's  let  alone." 

Others  shouted:  "Of  course  she's  right!"  by 
which  it  appeared  the  disturbance  was  of  the  few 
and  not  the  mass  of  students,  a  fact  which  Isabel 


287 


ROSE   OF   DUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

inferred.  She  spoke  a  grateful  word  to  the 
lanky  student,  and  Dr.  Sanborn  found  his  wife 
right  there. 

There  was  little  for  Isabel  to  learn  of  the 
sordid  and  vicious  side  of  men.  She  knew  them 
for  what  they  were,  polygamous  by  instinct,  in 
satiable  as  animals,  and  yet  she  had  been  treated 
on  the  whole  with  courteous — often  too  courte 
ous —  kindness.  Her  dainty  color  and  her  pe 
tite  figure  won  over-gallant  footway  everywhere, 
though  she  often  said: 

"  Gentlemen,  I  have  studied  my  part.  I  know 
what  I  am  doing  and  I  ask  only  a  fair  field  and 
no  favors." 

Thatcher  and  Sanborn  had  been  her  close 
companions  in  the  stern,  hard  course  they  set 
themselves;  each  had  said  with  vast  resolution  to 
the  other:  "  I  'm  not  to  be  left  behind."  And 
each  had  sworn  to  take  no  mediocre  position. 
Thatcher  had  made  apparently  the  least  mark 
in  the  world,  but  he  was  writing  a  monograph 
which  was  expected  to  give  important  facts  to 
the  medical  profession.  He  had  written  to  San 
born  several  times:  "  You  have  the  advantage  of 
association  with  the  '  Little  Corporal.'  " 

They  called  her  "  Little  Corporal "  among 
themselves.  Her  sternly  sweet  face  had  a  sug 
gestion  of  Napoleon  in  it,  and  then  she  ordered 
them  about  so  naturally  and  led  them  so  inevit 
ably  in  everything  she  undertook. 
288 


ROSE  SETS  FACE  TOWARD  OPEN  ROAD 

It  was  into  the  hands  of  the  "  Little  Corpo 
ral  "  that  Rose  had  fallen,  and  all  Isabel's  en 
thusiasm  was  roused  in  her  behalf.  Her  own 
little  sister  was  a  sweet,  placid  little  thing,  who 
had  inherited  the  body,  and  spirit  as  well,  of 
her  mother,  while  Isabel  had  inherited  the  mind 
of  her  father  in  the  body  of  her  mother. 

Something  of  this  Thatcher  had  told  Rose, 
part  of  it  Isabel  had  told,  and  it  made  only  one 
definite  impression  on  Rose — this,  that  a  woman 
could  succeed  if  she  set  her  teeth  hard  and  did 
not  waste  time. 

She  found  Isabel  already  surrounded  by  com 
pany.  She  made  every  other  Sunday  evening 
an  informal  "  at  home,"  and  certain  well-known 
artists  and  professional  people  dropped  in  to 
talk  awhile,  or  to  sit  at  her  generous  table.  It 
was  a  good  place  to  be  and  Rose  had  perception 
enough  to  feel  that. 

"  O,  you  dear  child!  I'm  glad  to  see  you. 
There 's  some  one  here  you  '11  be  glad  to  see." 

Rose  flushed  a  little,  thinking  of  Mason. 

"It 's  an  old  friend— Dr.  Thatcher." 

Rose  clapped  her  hands  :  "  O,  is  he  ?  I  'm 
so  glad  ;  it 's  almost  like  seeing  the  folks." 

"I've  asked  Elbert  Harvey  and  Mr.  Mason 
also;  I  didn't  want  you  to  think  I  had  no 
friends  but  doctors.  It  must  seem  to  you  as 
if  the  world  is  made  up  of  doctors.  But  it 
isn't." 

289 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

Thatcher  greeted  Rose  quietly  but  with  a 
pressure  of  the  hand  which  made  up  for  his 
impassivity  of  countenance.  He  trembled  a 
little  as  he  sat  down  and  watched  her  greeting 
Sanborn  and  Mason. 

Fear  and  admiration  were  both  present  in 
her  heart  as  Mason  took  her  hand. 

She  forced  herself  to  look  into  his  face,  and 
started  to  find  his  eyes  so  terribly  penetrating. 

"I  burned  the  packet,"  she  said  with  a  con 
strained  smile. 

His  eyes  grew  softer  and  a  little  humorous. 

"Did  you  indeed.     Without  opening  it?" 

"Yes." 

"Heroic  girl!" 

"Am  I  not?"  she  said  over  her  shoulder  as 
Isabel  dragged  her  toward  a  tall,  smooth-faced 
young  fellow  who  stood  talking  with  Etta. 

"Elbert,  this  is  Miss  Butcher  —  Rose,  young 
Mr.  Harvey ,  son  of  our  hostess  at  the  con 
cert." 

Young  Harvey  seemed  much  taken  back  as 
he  faced  Rose,  and  shook  hands  in  current 
angular  fashion.  His  mind  formulated  these 
opinions: 

"She  's  a  stunner!  Caroline  was  dead  right!" 
By  "Caroline"  he  meant  his  mother. 

Rose  placed  him  at  once.  He  was  another 
college  man.  Paul  and  Etta  joined  them  and 
they  made  a  fine  group.  They  were  soon  as 
290 


ROSE  SETS  FACE  TOWARD  OPEN  ROAD 

free  as  schoolmates,  laughing,  telling  stories, 
and  fighting  over  the  East  and  the  West. 

Rose  stoutly  defended  the  western  colleges; 
they  had  their  place,  she  said. 

"So  they  have,"  Elbert  said,  "but  let  them 
keep  it." 

"Their  place  is  at  the  head,  and  that's 
where  we  '11  put  them  soon,"  she  said. 

Elbert  told  a  story  about  hazing  a  western 
boy  at  Yale.  He  grew  excited  and  sprang  up 
to  dramatize  it.  He  stood  on  one  foot  and 
screwed  up  his  face,  while  the  rest  shrieked  with 
laughter,  all  except  Rose,  who  thought  it  unjust. 
Mason  looked  on  from  his  low  chair  with  a 
revealing  touch  of  envious  sadness.  He  had 
gone  past  that  life — past  the  land  of  youth  and 
love — past  the  islands  of  mirth  and  minstrelsy. 
He  was  facing  a  cold,  gray  sea,  with  only  here 
and  there  a  grim  granite  reef  gnawing  the  water 
into  foam. 

It  made  him  long  to  be  part  of  that  again, 
therefore  he  valued  Rose  more  at  that  moment 
than  ever  before.  "The  girl  has  imagination, 
she  has  variety.  She  is  not  a  simple  personality. 
At  the  concert  she  was  exalted,  rapt,  her  eyes 
deep.  Tonight  she  is  a  schoolgirl.  Then  it  was 
Wagner — now  it  is  college  horse,play." 

Isabel  came  up  to  sit  a  moment  by  him. 

"Isn't  she  fine?  I  think  I  surprised  young 
Harvey.  I  thought  I  'd  like  to  have  her  meet 
291 


ROSE   OF   DUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

him  —  he's  such  a  fine  fellow.  She  should  meet 
someone  else  beside  us  old  fogies." 

Mason  winced  a  little. 

"Well  now,  that's  pleasant!  Do  you  call 
me  an  old  fogy  ?  " 

She  laughed: 

"  O,  we  're  not  old  in  years,  but  we  're  old 
in  experience.  The  bloom  of  the  grape  is 
lost." 

"  But  the  grape  is  ripe,  and  we  still  have  that. 
The  bloom — what  is  it  ?  A  nest  for  bacteria." 

"  But  it  is  so  beautiful  with  the  bloom  on," 
she  said  wistfully.  "  I  'd  take  it  again,  bacteria 
and  all.  See  those  young  people !  The  meet 
ing  of  their  eyes  is  great  as  fame,  and  the 
touch — the  accidental  touch  of  their  hands  or 
shoulders,  like  a  return  of  lost  ships.  I  am 
thirty-three  years  of  age  and  I  've  missed  that 
somewhere." 

Mason  lifted  his  eyebrows: 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  the  touch  of  San- 
born's  hand  does  not  hasten  your  blood  ?  " 

"I  do — and  yet  I  love  him  as  much  as  I 
shall  ever  love  anybody — now." 

Mason  studied  her,  and  then  chanted  softly: 

" '  Another  came  in  the  days  that  were  golden, 
One  that  was  fair,  in  the  days  of  the  olden 
Time,  long  ago!' 

You  've  never  told  me  about  that." 
292 


ROSE  SETS  FACE  TOWARD  OPEN  ROAD 

She  smiled.  "  No,  but  I  will  some  time — per 
haps." 

She  led  the  way  out  to  supper  with  Dr. 
Thatcher,  and  the  rest  followed  without  quite 
breaking  off  conversation,  a  merry,  witty  pro 
cession. 

Rose  was  conscious  of  a  readjustment  of 
values.  Dr.  Thatcher  had  less  weight  in  the 
presence  of  these  people,  but  Mason — Mason 
easily  dominated  the  table  without  effort.  In 
deed,  he  was  singularly  silent,  but  there  was 
something  in  the  poise  of  his  head,  in  the 
glance  of  his  eyes,  which  showed  power  and  in 
sight  into  life. 

The  young  folks,  led  by  young  Harvey  took 
possession  of  the  table,  and  laughter  rippled 
from  silence  to  silence  like  a  mountain  stream. 
Young  Harvey  aided  at  the  chafing-dish  with 
the  air  of  an  adept,  and  Isabel  was  almost  as 
light-hearted  in  laughter  as  he. 

Thatcher  and  Mason  seemed  to  sit  apart  from 
it,  and  so  it  was  Mason  found  opportunity  to  say: 

"You  knew  our  young  friend  of  the  coule" 
— discovered  her,  in  fact  ?  " 

"  Yes,  as  much  as  any  one  could  discover  her. 
It 's  a  little  early  to  talk  of  her  as  if  she  had 
achieved  fame." 

"  Dr.  Herrick  thinks  she  's  on  the  instant  of 
going  up  higher,  and  so  we  're  all  hanging  to 
her  skirts  in  hopes  of  getting  a  rise." 

293 


ROSE   OF   BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

Thatcher  did  n't  like  Mason's  tone. 

"Rose  is  a  hard  worker.  If  she  rises  any 
higher  it  will  be  by  the  same  methods  which 
put  her  through  college."  He  spoke  with  a 
little  air  of  proprietorship. 

Mason  felt  the  rebuff,  but  he  was  seeking 
information  about  Rose,  therefore  he  ignored  it. 

"  She  's  an  only  child,  I  believe." 

"Yes;  her  father  is  a  hard-working,  well-to- 
do  farmer  in  a  little  '  coolly '  in  Wisconsin." 

"  It 's  the  same  old  story,  I  suppose ;  he 
does  n't  realize  that  he 's  lost  his  daughter  to 
the  city  of  Chicago.  We  gain  at  his  expense." 

Mason's  mind  had  something  feminine  about 
it,  and  he  saw  as  never  before  how  attractive  to 
a  girl  a  fine  young  fellow  like  Harvey  could  be. 
Being  rich  he  was  lifted  above  worry.  His 
activity  was  merely  wholesome  exercise,  and  his 
flesh  was  clean  and  velvety  as  a  girl's.  He  was 
strong,  too,  as  it  was  the  fashion  of  college  men 
of  his  day  to  be.  He  had  never  known  want 
or  care  in  his  beautiful  life.  He  was,  moreover, 
a  clean  boy.  Money  had  not  spoiled  his  sterling 
nature.  It  was  no  wonder  that  Rose's  eyes  grew 
wide  and  dark  as  they  rested  on  him.  They 
were  physically  a  beautiful  pair  and  their  union 
seemed  the  most  inevitable  thing  in  the  world. 

Isabel  leaned  over  to  say: 

"  Are  n't  they  enjoying  themselves?     I  wish 
Mrs.  Harvey  could  see  them." 
294 


ROSE  SETS  FACE  TOWARD  OPEN  ROAD 

After  they  had  returned  to  the  sitting  room 
a  couple  of  young  artists  came  in  with  John 
Coburg,  Mason's  room-mate  on  the  Star.  He 
was  a  smooth-faced  fellow  of  extra-solemn 
visage,  relieved  by  twinkling  black  eyes.  The 
artists  were  keen,  alert-looking  fellows,  with 
nothing  to  indicate  their  profession  save  their 
pointed  beards.  One  of  them  being  lately 
from  Paris  turned  his  moustaches  up  devilishly; 
the  other  had  fallen  away  from  his  idols  suffi 
ciently  to  wear  his  moustaches  turned  down  and 
an  extra  width  to  his  beard. 

Rose  was  glad  Mr.  Davidson  twisted  his  mus 
tache;  there  was  so  little  else  about  him  to  indi 
cate  his  high  calling. 

Their  coming  turned  the  current  of  talk  upon 
matters  of  art,  which  made  Rose  feel  perfectly 
certain  she  was  getting  at  the  heart  of  Chicago 
artistic  life. 

Mr.  Davidson  inveighed  against  America,  and 
Chicago  especially,  for  its  "  lack  of  art  atmos 
phere." 

"  If  you  've  got  the  creative  power  you  can 
make  your  own  art  atmosphere,"  his  companion 
hotly  said.  "  You  always  start  up  on  that 
thing."  Evidently  it  was  a  source  of  violent 
argument  between  them. 

"  The  trouble  is  you  fellows  who  paint,  want 
to  make  a  living  too  easy,"  Mason  remarked. 


295 


ROSE   OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

"You  ought  to  stay  and  do  pioneer  work 
among  us,"  said  Isabel. 

"  I  do  n't  consider  it  worth  while  so  far  as  I 
am  concerned.  I  prefer  Paris." 

"  You  're  not  very  patriotic." 

"There  is  no  patriotism  in  art." 

"  That 's  the  regular  Parisian  jabber,"  re 
turned  his  friend.  "  I  talked  all  that  myself. 
What  you  need  is  a  touch  of  poverty.  I  'd  like 
to  see  your  people  drop  you  in  a  small  town 
where  you  had  to  make  your  living  for  a  little 
while." 

"All  the  hard  conditions  of  Chicago  are 
changing,"  Isabel  interposed,  with  peaceful  in-' 
tent.  "  All  that  was  true  a  few  years  ago  is  not 
true  now.  The  materialism  you  war  against,  no 
longer  dominates  us.  We  are  giving  a  little 
time  to  art  and  literature." 

Davidson  twisted  his  mustache  point.  "  It 
isn't  noticeable  yet  —  O,  there  's  a  little  band  of 
fellows  starving  here  like  rats  in  a  garret — but 
what  general  recognition  of  art  have  you  ?  " 

"  What  could  you  expect  ?  " 

"  Well,  you  might  buy  pictures." 

"We  do  —  old  masters  and  salon  pictures," 
said  Mills,  with  a  relenting  acknowledgment  of 
the  city's  weakness. 

"  That 's  it  exactly !"  said  Davidson.    "  You  've 
no   judgment   here.     You  are  obliged  to    take 
your  judgment  from  somebody  else.  " 
296 


ROSE  SETS  FACE  TOWARD  OPEN  ROAD 

So  the  talk  proceeded.  To  Rose  it  was 
illuminating  and  epoch-making.  She  read  in  it 
the  city's  developing  thought.  Paris  and  the 
Rocky  Mountains  met  here  with  Chicago  and 
the  most  modern  types  of  men  and  women. 

Meanwhile  Mason  found  opportunity  to  say 
to  Thatcher,  who  seemed  a  little  ill  at  ease  : 

"These  little  informal  Sunday  suppers  and 
free-for-alls  are  increasing  in  number,  and  they 
are  signs  of  civilization.  Of  course  a  few  of  the 
women  still  go  to  church  in  the  morning,  but 
that  will  wear  off,  except  at  new-bonnet  time." 

Thatcher  did  not  reply;  he  thought  Mason  a 
little  flippant. 

Rose  sought  opportunity  to  talk  about  Mrs. 
Thatcher  and  Josephine. 

"  They  're  quite  well." 

"  I  wish  I  could  see  them  both." 

"  We  should  be  glad  to  welcome  you  back  to 
Madison  any  time.  But  I  hardly  expect  to  see 
you,  except  on  a  vacation,  possibly.  You  're  a  city 
dweller  already.  I  can  see  that."  He  seemed 
sadder  than  she  had  ever  known  him,  and  his 
look  troubled  her  a  little. 

At  ten  o'clock  she  rose  to  go,  and  young 
Harvey  sprang  up  : 

"  Are  you  going  ?  If  you  are  I  hope  you  '11 
give  me  the  pleasure —  my  carriage —  " 

"  Thank  you  very  much,"  she  answered  quick 
ly.  "  I  've  a  friend  coming  for  me."  Thatcher 

297 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

rose  as  if  to  go  with  her,  but  sat  down  again 
with  a  level  line  of  resolution  on  his  lips. 

Mason  and  Harvey  both  wondered  a  little 
about  that  friend.  Mason  took  a  certain  delight 
in  young  Harvey's  defeat,  and  analyzed  his 
pulse  to  find  out  why  he  was  delighted.  "  We 
should  mob  that  friend,"  he  said  to  Sanborn. 
"  He  is  an  impertinence,  at  this  time." 

Rose  felt  Isabel's  arm  around  her  as  she  en 
tered  the  cloakroom. 

"  Is  n't  he  fine  ?" 

"Who?" 

"Mr.  Harvey." 

"O — yes — so  are  the  artists."  Rose  began 
to  wonder  if  Isabel  were  not  a  matchmaker  as 
well  as  a  promoter  of  genius. 

Isabel  had  a  suspicion  of  Rose's  thought  and 
she  laughingly  said: 

"Don't  think  I  'm  so  terrible!  I  do  like  to 
bring  the  right  people  together.  I  see  so  many 
people  wrongly  mated,  but  I  do  n't  mean —  I 
only  want  you  to  know  nice  people.  You  're  to 
do  your  own  choosing,"  she  said  with  sudden 
gravity.  "  No  one  can  choose  for  you.  There 
are  some  things  I  want  to  talk  about  when  I  can 
venture  it." 

Mason  and  Sanborn  were  the  last  to  go  and 
when  Isabel  returned  from  the  door,  where  she 
had  speeded  the  last  guest,  she  dropped  into  a 
chair  and  sighed. 

298 


ROSE  SETS  FACE  TOWARD  OPEN  ROAD 

"  It 's  splendid  good  fun,  but  it  does  tire  me 
so!  Talk  to  me  now  while  I  rest." 

"Sanborn,  talk!"  Mason  commanded. 

Sanborn  drew  a  chair  near  Isabel  and  put  his 
arm  about  her.  She  leaned  her  head  on  his 
shoulder. 

Mason  rose  in  mock  confusion. 

"I  beg  your  pardon!  I  should  have  gone 
before." 

Isabel  smiled.  "  Do  n't  go;  we  're  not  dis 
turbed." 

"  I  was  considering  myself." 

"  O,  you  were  !  " 

"  Such  things  shock  me,  but  if  I  may  smoke 
I  may  be  able — " 

"  Of  course.  Smoke  and  tell  me  what  you 
think  of  Rose.  Is  n't  it  strange  how  that  girl 
gets  on  ?  She 's  one  of  the  women  born  to  win  » 
her  way  without  effort.  It  is  n't  true  to  say  it  is 
physical ;  that 's  only  part  of  it — it 's  tempera 
ment." 

Mason  got  his  cigar  well  alight  before  he  said: 

"She  has  the  prime  virtue — imagination." 

"  Is  that  a  woman's  prime  virtue  ?  " 

"  To  me  it  is.  Of  course  there  are  other 
domestic  and  conjugal  virtues  which  are  com 
monly  ranked  higher,  but  they  are  really  subor 
dinate.  Sappho  and  Helen  and  Mary  of  the 
Scots  were  not  beautiful  nor  virtuous,  as  such 
terms  go;  they  had  imagination,  and  imagina- 
299 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

tion  gave  them  variety,  and  variety  means  end 
less  charm.  It  is  decidedly  impossible  to  keep 
up  your  interest  in  a  woman  who  is  the  same 
yesterday,  today  and  tomorrow — whose  orbit 
can  be  predicted,  whose  radiance  is  without  the 
shadow  of  turning." 

"  Should  he  be  stopped  ? "  Isabel  asked  of 
Sanborn. 

"  I  should  n't  like  the  job,"  Sanborn  replied. 
"  When  he  strikes  that  line  of  soliloquy  he 's  out 

of  my  control." 

*  *  *  * 

Rose  found  Owen  waiting  in  the  hall,  and  she 
accepted  his  escort  with  the  frankness  of  a  sister. 

"  Have  you  waited  long  ?  " 

"  No,  I  was  just  going  to  ring  the  bell  when 
I  heard  your  voice." 

They  walked  on  in  silence.    At  last  he  asked  : 

"  Did  you  have  a  good  time  ?  " 

"  Splendid!"  she  answered. 

"  We  missed  you,"  he  said. 

Rose  felt  something  tender  in  his  voice  and 
remained  silent. 

"I  heard  from  my  partners  today."  He  went 
on  after  a  little  :  "  They  're  feeling  mighty  good. 
Struck  another  vein  that  promises  better  than  the 

one  we  have.  I  ought  to  go  out,  but  I " 

He  paused  abruptly.     "Did  you  ever  see  the 

Rockies  in  late  fall  ?    O,  they  're  mighty,  mighty 

as  the  sky!      I    wish  you  'd — I  wish  we  could 

300 


ROSE  SETS  FACE  TOWARD  OPEN  ROAD 

make  up  a  party  some  time  and  go  out.  I  'd 
take  a  car " 

She  faced  the  situation. 

"  I  '11  tell  you  what  would  be  nice:  When 
you  and  Mary  take  your  wedding  trip  I  '11  go 
along  to  take  care  of  you  both." 

Owen  fairly  staggered  under  the  import  of 
that  speech,  and  could  find  nothing  to  say  for 
some  time. 

"  Did  you  have  a  good  time  tonight  ?  "  he 
asked  again. 

"Splendid!  I  always  do  when  I  go  to 
Isabel's."  Thereafter  they  walked  in  silence. 

Rose  fell  to  thinking  of  young  Harvey  in  the 
days  which  followed.  There  was  allurement  in 
his  presence  quite  different  from  that  of  any 
other.  She  could  not  remember  anything  he 
had  said,  only  he  had  made  her  laugh  and  his 
eyes  were  frank  and  boyish.  She  felt  his  grace 
and  the  charm  that  comes  from  security  of  po 
sition  and  freedom  from  care. 

He  brought  up  to  her  mind  by  force  of  con 
trast,  her  father,  with  his  eyes  dimmed  with  harsh 
winds  and  dust  and  glowing  sun.  He  was  now 
spending  long,  dull  days  wandering  about  the 
house  and  barn,  going  to  bed  early  in  order  to 
rise  with  the  sun,  to  begin  the  same  grind  of 
duties  the  day  following.  Young  Harvey's  life 
was  the  opposite  from  this. 

He  admired  her,  she  felt  that  as  distinctly  as 
301 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

if  he  had  spoken  to  her.  He  wanted  to  be  near 
her.  He  had  asked  her  to  help  him  with  the 
chafing-dish  that  night,  and  to  pour  the  beer 
while  he  stirred  the  gluey  mass  of  cheese.  All 
the  little  things  by  which  a  young  man  expresses 
his  admiration  he  had  used  almost  artlessly,  cer 
tainly  boyishly. 

There  was  nothing  there  but  a  vista  of  pleas 
ures,  certain  relief  from  toil  and  worry.  What  a 
marvelous  thing  to  be  suddenly  relieved  from  all 
fear  of  hunger  and  every  harassing  thought 
about  the  future!  And  it  was  not  a  question  of 
an  old  man  of  wealth,  or  a  man  of  repulsive  ap 
pearance;  it  was  a  question  of  taking  a  bright, 
handsome,  clean-souled  man,  together  with  his 
money.  She  felt  the  power  to  put  out  her  hand 
and  claim  him  as  her  own. 

She  liked  him,  too;  he  amused  her  and  inter 
ested  her.  She  admired  his  splendid  flesh  and 
his  clear,  laughing  eyes.  It  seemed  the  easiest 
thing  in  the  world — to  an  outsider.  She  felt 
that  Isabel  was  working  hard  to  have  her  see 
young  Harvey  at  his  best,  and  she  felt,  too,  that 
Mrs.  Harvey  was  taking  unusual  interest  in  her, 
and  in  her  secret  heart  she  knew  she  could 
marry  into  that  fine  family,  but  — 

Liking  was  not  love.     She  did   not   shiver 

when    he   clasped   her   hand,  as  she  did    when 

Mason  greeted  her.     She  feared    Mason.    When 

he  came  by,  her  judgment  blurred  and  her  eyes 

302 


ROSE  SETS  FACE  TOWARD  OPEN  ROAD 

fell.  She  could  n't  tell  what  his  traits  were,  and 
she  did  n't  know  whether  he  was  a  good  man  or 
not.  She  hungered  to  see  him,  to  hear  his  voice; 
beyond  that  she  hardly  dared  consciously  go. 

His  attitude  toward  her  she  could  not  under 
stand.  Sometimes  he  seemed  anxious  to  please 
her,  sometimes  he  seemed  equally  determined 
that  she  should  understand  how  inconsequential 
she  was  in  his  life — and  always  he  dominated  her. 

She  did  not  once  think  it  might  be  indecision 
in  his  mind,  after  the  usual  stupidity  of  love's 
victims.  She  thought  his  changes  of  manner 
due  in  some  way  to  her.  She  had  acted  fool 
ishly,  or  she  was  looking  so  badly  he  was 
ashamed  of  her. 

In  this  condition  of  mind,  it  may  be  imag 
ined,  she  did  not  do  much  studying  or  writing. 
She  went  to  the  library  regularly,  but  she  could 
not  concentrate  her  thoughts  upon  her  book. 
She  grew  surly  and  changeable  with  Mary,  who 
no  longer  dared  to  talk  unguardedly  with  her. 

Mary's  eyes  were  not  glass  marbles;  she  could 
see  things  with  them,  and  she  said  gleefully  to 
Owen  one  night: 

"  She  's  in  love,  that 's  what  is  the  matter  with 
her.  I  do  n't  mind  it.  She  '11  be  all  right  after 
a  while.  She 's  short  as  pie-crust  with  me,  but  I 
know  how  it  is  myself.  She  's  in  love  with  some 
high-flyer  she  's  met  at  Dr.  Herrick's  house." 

Then  she  wondered  why  Owen  made  no  reply. 

303 


CHAPTER  XXI 

MASON   TALKS  AGAIN 

Not  seeing  Mason  for  some  days,  Sanborn 
took  a  walk  one  night,  and  turned  up  about 
nine  o'clock  at  his  rooms.  He  found  him  sitting 
before  his  open  grate  fire,  smoking  meditatively. 
"Hello,  Sanborn  !  Glad  you  came  over." 
He  did  not  rise,  but  Sanborn  was  untroubled  by 
that. 

"Got  another  chapter  turned  off?" 
"Possibly.     Fill  up  and  draw  up." 
Sanborn  obediently  filled  a  pipe  and  drew  up 
a  chair. 

"  You  look  tired." 

"I  am.     I  have  written  a  column  editorial  on 
the  labor  question,  one  on  the  Chinese  treaty,  a 
special  article  on  irrigation  for  the  Sunday  issue, 
not  counting  odd  paragraphs  on  silver,  anarchy, 
and  other  little  chores  of  my  daily  grind." 
"That's  not  as  bad  as  poulticing  people." 
"Bad!     There's  nothing  any  worse,  and  my 
novelistic  friends  are  always  saying,  '  Why  do  n't 
you  turn  in  and  finish  up  your  novel  ? '     What 
can  an  intellectual  prostitute  do  ?  " 

304 


MASON  TALKS  AGAIN 

"Get  out  of  the  business,  one  would  suppose." 

"  Well,  now,  that  brings  me  to  the  point. 
In  the  midst  of  all  my  other  worriments,  I  am 
debating  whether  to  marry  a  rich  girl  and  escape 
work,  or  a  poor  girl  and  work  harder,  or  to  give 
the  whole  matter  of  marriage  up  forever." 

"These  are  actual  cases,  not  hypothetical,  this 
time?" 

Mason  turned  a  slow  eye  upon  him. 

"I  have  no  need  to  fly  to  hypothetical  cases," 
he  said,  dryly.  "In  the  first  place,  my  hero — 
if  you  incline  tonight  to  that  theory  of  the  case 
— my  hero  is  equally  interested  in  two  young 
women.  This  is  contrary  to  the  story  books, 
but  then  only  an  occasional  novelist  tells  the 
truth.  I'm  to  be  that  one." 

He  seemed  to  be  going  off  upon  some  other 
line  of  thought,  and  Sanborn  hauled  him  back 
by  asking  a  pertinent  question  : 

"You  mean  to  say  both  of  these  young  ladies 
have  that  glamour  ?" 

"  O,  not  at  all!  They  did  have,  but  it  has 
faded  in  both  cases,  as  in  all  previous  cases,  yet 
more  seems  to  have  remained,  or  else  I  am  get 
ting  a  little  less  exacting.  In  the  case  of  the 
sculptress — she 's  the  poor  girl,  of  course — she 's 
a  genius.  The  first  time  I  saw  her  she  read  a 
paper  on  'The  Modern  in  Sculpture'  (it  was 
good,  too).  She  was  dressed  beautifully,  in 
cheese-cloth,  for  all  I  know — I  only  know  she 

305 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

put  to  shame  her  sculptured  copies  of  Hope  and 
Ariadne.  The  glamour  was  around  her  like 
rose-colored  flame.  It  was  about  her  still  when 
I  stepped  up  to  her.  She  was  tall,  and  strong 
as  a  young  lioness.  Her  clean,  sweet  eyes  were 
level  with  mine,  and  she  made  me  ashamed  of 
every  mean  thing  I  had  uttered  in  my  whole 
life." 

"  Well,  well ! "  exclaimed  Sanborn. 

"She  was  flattered  and  exalted  to  think  'the 
editor '  was  pleased  with  her  essay,  and  the  rest 
was  easy.  I  went  to  call  on  her  a  day  or  two 
later " 

"And  the  glamour — the  glamour?" 

Mason  shook  his  head.  "  Faint!  She  was  in 
her  study,  and  the  hard,  cold  light  was  merciless. 
She  was  handsome,  even  then,  but  her  face  had 
a  pinched  look,  and  there  was  a  heavy  droop  to 
her  lips.  The  color  so  beautiful  that  night  when 
flushed  with  excitement  had  faded  from  her 
cheeks,  and  gathered  in  some  unfortunate  way 
about  her  eyes  and  nose.  She  was  a  fine  woman, 
but — the  glamour  was  gone." 

"  What  an  eye  for  symptoms  !  you  should 
have  been  a  physician,"  Sanborn  put  in. 

"  At  the  same  time  she  grew  upon  me.  She  's 
an  artist.  She  has  the  creative  hand — no  doubt 
of  that.  She  has  dreams,  beautiful  dreams  of 
art.  She  glows,  and  dilates,  and  sings  with  the 
joy  of  it.  She  could  bring  into  my  life  some- 
306 


MASON  TALKS  AGAIN 

thing  of  the  dreams  I  myself  had  as  a  youth. 
She  's  going  to  make  a  name  for  herself,  without 
question." 

"  Why,  that 's  glorious,  Warren,  old  man  ; 
she  's  just  the  wife  for  you  !  And  she  really  in 
clines  toward  you  ?" 

"  She  does."  Then  his  self-crucifying  humor 
came  in.  "  That 's  really  her  most  questionable 
virtue.  However,  if  Love  can  laugh  at  lock 
smiths,  I  suppose  he  can  laugh  at  a  bald  head. 
But  this  is  only  one  phase  of  the  matter.  Like  all 
spectators,  you  are  informed  of  only  one  side  of 
the  banner.  Let 's  look  at  the  other. 

"  I  manage  to  live  here  and  support  this  fire, 
which  is  my  only  extravagance.  I  keep  the 
establishment  going,  and  a  little  more.  I  '11 
anticipate  the  usual  arguments.  Suppose,  for  a 
little  while,  it  would  not  increase  expenses.  It 
would  not  do  to  bring  a  woman  here,  it  would 
not  be  right.  When  children  came — and  I 
should  hope  for  children  —  they  should  have  a 
home  in  the  suburbs;  I  do  n't  believe  in  raising 
children  in  a  flat.  That  would  mean  an  estab 
lishment  which  would  take  every  cent  I  could 
hook  on  to,  and  it  would  mean  that  the  whole 
glittering  fabric  would  be  built  upon  my  own 
personal  palm." 

"But  she  might  earn  something — you  say 
she  's  a  genius." 

"  She  is,  that 's  the  reason  she  '11  never  make 

307 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

money.  Holding  the  view  I  do,  I  could  not  re 
quire  her  to  toil.  I  do  not  believe  marriage  con 
fers  any  authority  on  the  husband — you  under 
stand  my  position  there  ?  " 

"Perfectly — and  agree  with  it,  to  a  limited 
extent,  of  course." 

"Going  back,  therefore — I  do  not  believe  I 
can  assume  the  risk  involved.  I  'm  not  capable 
of  twenty  years'  work  at  my  present  rate.  I  'd 
break  down,  some  fine  day,  and  then  my  little 
home,  upheld  upon  my  Atlas  palm,  would  tum 
ble.  No,  I  can  't  take  the  risk.  I  'm  getting 
too  foxy;  I  have  n't  the  bounce  I  once  had. 
Besides,  her  career  is  to  be  considered.  I  do  n't 
believe  I  can  afford  to  let  her  marry  me." 

"  That 's  mighty  kind  of  you,"  Sanborn  dryly 
remarked. 

"Thank  you.  I  think  it  is  an  error  of  judg 
ment  on  her  part.  She  is  younger,  and  as  her 
adviser  I  think  I  must  interfere  and  save  her 
from  the  power  of  a  vivid  imagination  and 
abounding  vitality.  You  see,  there  are  a  great 
many  considerations  involved." 

"Real  love,  I  must  repeat,  would  not  consider." 

"  I  wish  you  would  n't  repeat  it,  it  does  you  an 
injustice.  The  animal  passion  of  youth  would 
not  consider.  With  youth,  it  is  marry — marry, 
even  if  within  the  year  you  are  picked  up  by  the 
patrol  wagon,  a  vagrant  in  the  streets.  The  love 
of  my  time  is  not  so  heedless  nor  so  selfish;  it 
308 


MASON  TALKS  AGAIN 

extends  to  the  question  of  the  other  party  to  the 
transaction." 

"  I  suppose  that  should  be  so,  but  as  a  physi 
cian  I  doubt  it.  My  observations  do  not  run 
that  way.  Age  grows  like  a  child  again,  thor 
oughly  selfish." 

"  Then  there  is  the  question  of  the  '  possible 
woman,'  "  Mason  resumed,  and  his  tone  was  cyn 
ically  humorous  again.  "  I  can  't  give  her  up. 
There  she  stands  in  a  radiant  mist  always  just 
before  me  like  the  rainbow  of  our  childhood.  I 
can  't  promise  any  woman  to  love  her  till  death. 
I  do  n't  know  as  it  would  be  safe  to  promise  it 
even  to  the  woman  with  glamour.  Another 
might  come  with  a  subtler  glory,  and  a  better 
fitting  glamour,  and  then — " 

"What  then?" 

"  It  would  all  be  up  with  the  first  woman," 
he  said  with  a  gravity  of  tone  of  which  the  words 
gave  no  hint. 

"  I  'm  afraid  some  one  has  already  come  to 
make  pale  the  beauty  of  the  sculptress.  What 
about  the  other,  the  rich  girl  you  set  over  against 
the  sculptress  at  the  beginning?  Mind  you,  I 
believe  the  whole  situation  is  fictitious,  but  I  '11 
humor  you  in  it." 

"Well,  Aurelia — we  '11  call  her  Aurelia — brings 
up  a  far-reaching  train  of  reflections,  and,  if 
you  've  got  a  patient  waiting,  you  'd  better  come 
again." 

3°9 


ROSE  OF  DUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

"  I  'm  the  only  patient  waiting." 

Mason  ignored  the  lame  old  pun  and  pro 
ceeded  : 

"  Aurelia  lives  in  Springfield.  You  know  the 
kind  of  home  the  wealthy  politician  builds  in  a 
western  town — combination  of  jail  and  court 
house.  I  attended  a  reception  there  last  winter 
and  saw  Aurelia  for  the  first  time.  She  was  as 
beautiful  as  an  acrobat —  " 

"  I  do  n't  want  to  interrupt,  Mason,  but  I  no 
tice  all  your  heroines  are  beautiful." 

"  They  must  be  ;  my  taste  will  not  permit  me 
to  tolerate  unsymmetrical  heroines.  I  started  in 
as  an  architect  and  I  've  done  a  little  paddling 
in  clay,  and  my  heroines  must  be  harmonious  of 
structure  —  glamour  comes  only  with  beauty,  to 
me." 

"  Largely  physical,  then." 
"Certainly!    I   believe   in    the    physical,  the 
healthy,  wholesome  physical.     In  the  splendor 
of  the  tiger's  wooing  is  no  disease." 

"Well,  well,  she  was  beautiful  as  an  acro 
bat—  " 

Mason  looked  sour.  "  One  more  interrup 
tion,  and  the  rest  of  my  heart-tragedy  will  re 
main  forever  alien  to  your  ear." 

Sanborn  seemed  alarmed  : 

"  My  lips  are  glued  to  my  pipe." 

Mason  mused —  ("  Composed  1"  Sanbom 
thought.) 

310 


MASON  TALKS  AGAIN 

"  She  looked  as  if  she  had  been  moulded  into 
her  gown.  The  Parisian  robe  and  the  hair  piled 
high,  were  fast  —  undeniably  theatric,  but  her 
little  face  was  sweet  and  girlish,  almost  childish. 
Well,  she  had  glamour,  largely  physical  as  you 
say.  But  like  the  heroes  of  E.  P.  Roe's  novels, 
I  aspired  to  awaken  her  soul.  She  was  pleased 
with  me  apparently.  I  called  soon  after  the  re 
ception —  I  always  follow  up  each  case  of 
glamour.  I  knew  she  was  rich  but  I  did  not 
realize  she  commanded  such  an  establishment. 

"  It  was  enormous.  Her  mother  was  a  faded 
little  hen  of  a  woman,  who  had  been  a  very 
humble  person  in  youth,  and  who  continued  a 
very  humble  person  in  middle-life.  The  court 
house  in  which  she  was  forced  to  live  continu 
ally  over-awed  her,  but  the  girl  used  it,  enter 
tained  in  it  as  if  she  had  a  string  of  palace-dwell 
ing  ancestors  straggling  clear  back  to  Charle 
magne." 

"  That 's  the  American  idea,  the  power  of 
adaptation.  Our  women  have  it  better  developed 
than  — " 

"  She  was  a  gracious  and  charming  hostess, 
and  I  admit  the  sight  of  her  in  command  of 
such  an  establishment  was  impressive.  I  thought 
how  easily  a  tired  editor  could  be  absorbed  into 
that  institution  and  beat  rest  —  a  kind  of  life 
hospital,  so  to  say.  She  was  interested  in  me  — 
that  was  certain." 

3" 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

"Now,  Mason,  I  must  protest.  You  know  how 
high  Isabel  and  I  both  hold  you,  but  we  never 
quite  considered  you  in  the  light  of  a  ladies' 
man.  Your  Springfield  girl  must  have  had  doz 
ens  of  brilliant  and  handsome  young  men  about 
her." 

Mason  smoked  in  silence,  waiting  till  San- 
born's  buzz  ceased. 

"  Well,  she  came  to  the  city  last  month,  and 
I  've  been  to  see  her  a  number  of  times;  the  last 
time  I  saw  her  she  proposed  to  me." 

Sanborn  stared,  with  fallen  jaw  gaping,  while 
Mason  continued  in  easy  flow. 

"  And  I  have  the  matter  under  consideration. 
I  saw  the  coming  storm  in  her  eyes.  Last  night 
as  we  sat  together  at  the  piano  she  turned  sud 
denly  and  faced  me,  very  tense  and  very  white. 

"  '  Mr.  Mason,  why  can 't  you  —  I  mean  — 
what  do  you  think  of  me  ? ' 

"  I  could  n't  tell  her  that  night  what  I 
thought  of  her,  for  she  had  seemed  more 
minutely  commonplace  than  ever.  She  had 
trotted  round  her  little  well-worn  circle  of  graces 
and  accomplishments,  even  to  playing  her  favor 
ite  selection  on  the  piano.  I  equivocated.  I 
professed  it  was  not  very  easy  to  say  what  I 
thought  of  her,  and  added  : 

"'I  think  you're  a  fine,  wholesome  girl,'  as 
she  is,  of  course. 

"  '  But  you  don  't  think  I  'm  beautiful  ? ' 
312 


MASON  TALKS  AGAIN 

That  was  a  woman's  question,  was  n't  it.  *  Yes,' 
I  said  in  reply,  '  I  think  you  are  very  attractive. 
Nature  has  been  lavish  with  you.' 

"Then  she  flamed  red  and  stammered  a 
little  : 

"  'Then  why  do  n't  you  like  me  ?' 

"  '  I  do,1  I  said. 

" '  You  know  what  I  mean,'  she  hurried  on  to 
say  —  '  I  want  you  to  like  me  better  than  any 
other  woman.' 

" '  That 's  impossible,'  I  replied.  It  was 
pitiful  to  see  her  sitting  there  like  a  beggar  in  the 
midst  of  all  her  splendor.  '  I  like  you  very  much. 
I  think  you  're  very  sweet  and  kind  and  girlish.' 

"  She  seemed  to  react  from  her  boldness. 
Her  eyes  filled  with  tears.  '  I  know  you  think 
I  'm  terrible  to  say  these  things.' 

"  '  No.  I  feel  that  I  do  not  deserve  such  trust 
on  your  part.'  Then  she  defended  me.  '  Yes, 
you  do.  I  could  n't  have  spoken  to  any  one  else 
so.  You  're  so  kind  and  gentle.'  " 

"  Did  she  say  that  of  you  ?  " 

"She  said  that." 

"I  wish  I  could  reach  that  phase  of  your 
character,"  sighed  Sanborn.  "  What  did  you 
say  in  reply  ?  " 

Mason  apparently  showed  deep  feeling  at 
last. 

"  I  told  her  that  I  was  like  the  average  man.  I 
was  taking  credit  to  myself  for  not  devouring 


ROSE  OF   BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

her  like  a  wolf!  She  didn't  listen  to  that. 
'What  can  I  do  to  make  you  like  me?'  she 
asked.  She  leaned  toward  me,  her  chin  in  her 
palm,  thinking  and  suffering  as  her  sweet  little 
soul  had  never  suffered  before.  '  I  'm  too  sim 
ple,'  she  said,  with  a  flash  of  startling  insight. 
4 1  do  n't  know  enough.  I  feel  that.  Can  't  I 
study  and  change  that  ? ' 

" '  You  're  changing  that  now,'  I  replied. 

"  She  grew  radiant  for  a  moment. 

"  '  O  you  do  like  me  a  little! '  " 

As  he  went  on,  Mason's  tone  grew  sweet  and 
solemn.  It  had  singular  power  of  suggestion. 
It  developed  more  of  his  nature  than  he  knew  ; 
his  real  gravity,  and  tenderness  and  purity. 

"  There  you  have  it,"  he  ended.  He  struck 
the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe  and  rose. 

"  I  could  marry  her,  but  it  would  n't  make 
her  happy.  It  would  make  her  surfer.  It  is 
not  a  light  thing  to  decide.  It  is  a  very  grave 
thing.  As  in  the  case  of  the  sculptress  I  thought 
it  an  error  of  judgment  on  her  part,  and  on  my 
own  it  would  be  criminal." 

"  That 's  a  fine  bit  of  fiction,"  said  Sanborn. 
"  You  're  too  rough  on  yourself,  for  you  could 
do  the  girl  a  deal  of  good  by  marrying  her." 

"  Possibly.  In  the  case  of  the  sculptress  the 
problem  is  different.  She  is  moving  past  me 
like  a  queen  — splendid,  supple,  a  smile  of  con- 
iscious  power  on  her  lips,  the  light  of  success  in 


MASON  TALKS  AGAIN 

her  eyes.  It 's  a  terrible  temptation,  I  admit, 
this  power  to  stretch  out  my  hand  and  stay  her. 
It  makes  my  blood  leap,  but  my  sense  of  justice 
will  not  allow  of  it.  I  shall  let  her  pass  on, 
beautiful  and  rapt." 

"  To  marry  some  confounded  pin-head,  who 
will  make  her  a  domestic  animal,  and  degrade 
her  into  '  my  wife,  gents '  ?  " 

"  Possibly.  However,  my  responsibility  ends 
where  I  say  good-bye." 

"  Do  n't  shirk  —  do  n't  shirk." 

Mason  turned  on  him.  His  voice  lost  a  little 
of  its  coldness. 

"Is  a  man  to  have  no  credit  for  letting  such 
a  glorious  creature  pass  him,  unharmed  and 
free?" 

"  Why  yes,  certainly.  But  the  world  of  art 
will  not  satisfy  that  girl.  She 's  sure  to  marry  — 
she  must  marry  —  and  she  is  entitled  to  more 
consideration.  You  've  got  to  look  ahead  to  the 
time  when  she  regrets  the  lack  of  husband  and 
children." 

"  Ah,  but  it 's  a  frightful  thing,  Sanborn,  to 
arrest  that  girl,  to  make  her  a  wife  and  mother, 
to  watch  her  grow  distorted,  stiffened,  heavy 
with  child-bearing.  I  prefer  to  see  her  pass  me, 
in  order  that  I  may  remember  her,  lithe,  radiant, 
moving  like  music  and  light." 

"  That 's  fine,  Mason,  I  honor  you  for  that 
spirit,"  said  Sanborn,  deeply  moved.  "  But  you 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

must  remember  I  am  about  to  be  married  to  a 
beautiful  woman  myself,  a  woman  who  knows 
both  sexes,  knows  their  vices  and  passions.  She 
tells  me,  and  it  fits  in  with  what  I  know  myself, 
that  the  woman's  nature  moves  on  from  this 
.  beautiful  state  you  've  described  so  well,  into  the 
pain  and  responsibility  of  marriage  not  merely 

/willingly,    but    eagerly.       Half  the    girl's    joy, 
which  we  men  see  in  her  face,  is  the  smile  of  an- 

</  ticipated  motherhood — it  must  be  so.  Isabel, 
as  you  know,  is  no  sentimentalist ;  she 's  a  wo 
man  you  can  talk  these  things  to,  freely.  I  can  't 
state  it  as  she  did,  but  the  substance  of  it  was 
this:  if  the  girl  knew  she  was  to  be  always 
young  and  childish,  her  youth  and  beauty  would 
be  of  no  value  to  her — that  it  is  the  untried 
pain  and  pleasures  of  other  years  and  conditions 
which  make  the  beauty  so  radiant  now." 

"All  of  which  merely  means  she  makes  the 
best  of  an  irresistible  and  tragic  impulse,  a  force 
which  she  does  not  originate  and  cannot  con 
trol.  Therefore  I  say  it  is  a  sorrowful  business 
to  hew  down  a  temple  or  tear  a  lily  in  pieces." 
The  two  men  were  silent  again.  They  had 
reached  fundamentals  in  their  talk.  Sanborn 
considered  the  whole  matter  an  allegory,  which 
Mason  was  using  to  veil  his  design  to  win 
Rose  if  possible.  He  knew  the  ease  of  Mason's 
invention,  as  well  as  his  power  to  present  a  case 
dramatically,  and  while  he  was  moved  by  the 
316 


MASON   TALKS  AGAIN 

expression  of  his  friend's  noble  thought,  he 
could  not  think  that  there  was  any  exact  truth 
contained  in  the  story. 

Mason  resumed  a  moment  later: 

"  There  are  certain  other  material,  minor  and 
prosaic  considerations  which  must  be  kept  in 
mind.  Suppose  I  announce  my  engagement  to 
Miss  Aurelia;  the  newspapers  would  have  a 
pleasant  paragraph  or  two.  Some  people  would 
say  'what  a  very  appropriate  match.'  Others 
would  say  very  knowingly,  '  Well,  Mason  has 
feathered  his  nest.'  The  newspaper  boys  who 
really  wish  me  well  would  say,  '  Good  for 
Mason;  now  he  can  take  time  to  finish  that 
great  American  novel  he's  had  on  hand  so 
long  ! '  A  few  shrewd  fellows  would  say,  'Well, 
that  ends  Mason  !  He  's  naturally  lazy,  and 
with  a  wife  and  home  like  that  he  '11  never  do 
another  stroke  of  work.  Mason's  like  Cole 
ridge  in  one  thing:  he  dreams  great  things,  but 
never  writes  them.  He 's  out  of  the  race  ! ' ' 

"  There  's  something  in  that,"  Sanborn  ad 
mitted. 

"  I  know  there  is,"  Mason  replied  without 
offense.  "  Now  we  '11  suppose  I  scrape  a  little 
money  together  for  immediate  use.  The  old 
railway  Baron  is  kind.  He  tolerates  me  for  the 
daughter's  sake.  I  come  in  contact  with  the 
relatives  ;  already  I  have  had  a  touch  of  them! 
A  girl  like  that  is  not  like  a  pebble  on  the  sea- 

31? 


ROSE  OF  DUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

shore ;  she 's  a  thread  in  a  web  of  cloth,  a 
silken  thread  in  a  breadth  of  shoddy,  maybe. 
You  can  't  marry  her  and  have  her  to  yourself. 
You  come  into  new  relations  with  her  people 
as  her  fiance.  They  cannot  be  escaped.  They 
swarm  around  you.  They  question  your  mo 
tives  and  they  comment  on  your  person:  '  He's 
getting  bent  and  bald  ; '  '  He  's  lazy  ; '  '  What 
did  she  ever  see  in  him  ? '  They  vulgarize 
everything  they  touch.  They  are  as  tiresome 
as  the  squeal  of  a  pump,  but  there  you  are, 
you  must  meet  them.  The  old  gentleman  is  a 
man  who  deals  in  millions,  reliable  and  con 
scientious.  He  talks  to  you  about  his  busi 
ness,  till  you  say,  '  business  be  damned.'  He 
thereafter  meets  you  in  heavy  silence.  The 
mother  is  a  timid  soul,  with  an  exaggerated 
idea  of  your  importance  as  an  editor.  The 
aunts  and  uncles  variously  sniff  and  tremble 
before  you." 

"  Meanwhile  your  wife  has  talked  all  she 
knows,  and  all  she  says  thereafter  has  a  familiar 
sound.  She  delights  in  stories  with  many  repe 
titions  in  them.  Her  little  brain  travels  from  the 
pantry  to  the  table,  from  the  tea  table  to  the 
children's  bath  tub;  its  widest  circuit  is  the  mil 
linery  store  and  the  bargain  counter.  She  gets 
fat,  that 's  another  distressing  phase  of  my 
trouble,  let  me  say.  I  seem  to  be  gifted  with  a 
prophetic  eye  in  the  midst  of  my  transports  — " 


MASON  TALKS  AGAIN 

"  Think  of  you  in  a  transport !  " 

"  I  am  able  to  see  just  how  each  one  will 
change,  how  this  pretty  plumpness  will  get  fat, 
how  this  delicate  slimness  will  get  bony.  I  see 
how  this  beautiful  alert  face  will  get  beakish.  In 
other  words  I  am  troubled  about  the  future, 
when  I  should  be  involved  only  in  the  ecstasy  of 
the  present.  In  this  latest  case  I  see  excessive 
plumpness  and  chatter  in  ten  years.  I  see  my 
self  bored  to  death  with  her  within  ten  months. 
She  is  at  her  best  now;  in  striving  to  win  me  she 
is  like  a  female  bird,  her  plumage  is  at  its  best;  she 
will  grow  dowdy  when  the  incentive  is  gone. 

"  There  are  other  considerations.  Aurelia, 
too,  has  exaggerated  notions  of  my  power  to 
earn  money.  She  may  expect  me  to  maintain 
an  expensive  establishment.  I  can 't  ask  any 
thing  of  the  political  pirate,  her  father;  I 
can  only  put  my  income  into  the  treasury.  If 
my  power  to  earn  money  decreases,  as  it  may, 
then  I  become  an  object  of  contempt  on  the 
part  of  the  old  savage,  who  considers  money  the 
measure  of  ability.  Suppose  at  last  I  come  to 
the  point  of  borrowing  money,  of  going  to  the 
old  man  humbly,  twisting  my  hat  in  my  hand: 
'  My  dear  sir,  Aurelia  and  the  children ' — 
Pah  ! " 

He  uttered  a  sound  of  disgust  and  anger  and 
fell  silent. 

Sanburn  mused,  "  I  wonder  if  the  lovers  of 


ROSE   OF   BUTCHER'S   COOLLY 

any  other  age  had  any  such  scruples  about  mar 
riage.  I  guess  you  're  right  about  Aurelia,  but 
I  do  n't  believe  you  are  about  the  sculptress.  I 
think  she  would  make  you  happy." 

Mason  mused  a  moment  and  then  went  on  : 

"Well,  now,  as  to  that — marry  her  and  we 
plunge,  inside  of  two  years,  into  a  squalid  struggle 
for  bread  and  coal  and  a  roof.  I  elect  myself  at 
once  into  the  ranks  of  dray-horses,  and,  as  I  said 
before,  I  chain  a  genius  to  the  neck-yoke  with 
me.  That  is  also  out  of  the  question." 

Sanborn  sought  his  hat. 

"  Well,  Mason,  this  has  been  a  season  of  plain 
speaking.  I  'd  feel  pretty  bad  over  it  if  I 
thought  it  was  real.  When  you  get  the  whole 
thing  typewritten  I  should  like  to  read  it  to 
Isabel  and  Rose." 

Mason's  face  did  not  change,  but  he  failed  to 
look  at  his  friend.  He  said  quietly  : 

"  Isabel  would  n't  read  it;  the  girl  might  pos 
sibly  find  something  in  it  of  value.  Good  night; 
you  've  listened  like  a  martyr." 

"  Do  n't  fail  to  write  that  out  while  it 's  fresh 
in  your  mind.  Good  night,"  said  Sanborn. 

His  last  glance  as  he  closed  the  door  fell 
upon  a  lonely  figure  lying  in  a  low  chair  be 
fore  the  fire,  and  he  pitied  him.  Mason  seemed 
"  the  great  irresolute  "  which  Isabel  believed  him 
to  be  ;  helpless  to  do,  patient  to  suffer. 


320 


CHAPTER  XXII 

SOCIAL    QUESTIONS 

The  social  world  seemed  about  to  open  to 
the  cou!6  girl.  At  Mrs.  Harvey's  she  called, 
and  behold !  her  house  was  but  one  street 
removed  from  the  Lake  Shore  Drive,  on  which 
she  had  stood  that  September  day.  It  was  a 
home  of  comfort  rather  than  of  wealth,  not  at 
all  ostentatious,  and  yet  its  elegance  troubled 
Rose  not  a  little. 

She  knew  values  by  instinct,  and  she  knew 
there  was  nothing  shoddy  and  nothing  carelessly 
purchased  in  the  room.  The  Harveys  were 
envied  by  some  of  their  wealthier  neighbors  for 
the  harmoniousness  of  their  house.  They  con 
trived  to  make  their  furniture  distinguish  itself 
from  a  down-town  stock — which  requires  taste  in 
selection,  and  arrangement  as  well. 

Rose  heard  voices  above,  and  soon  Mrs. 
Harvey  and  Isabel  came  down  together.  Rose 
was  glad  of  her  friend's  presence — it  made  it 
easier  for  her. 

After  hearty  greetings  from  Mrs.  Harvey  they 
all  sat  down  and  Mrs.  Harvey  said: 
321 


ROSE   OF   BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

"I  'm  glad  you  came  over.  We  —  Isabel  and 
I  —  feel  that  we  should  do  something  for  you 
socially.  I  would  like  to  have  you  come  over 
some  Wednesday  and  pour  tea  for  me.  It 's  just 
my  afternoon  at  home,  and  friends  drop  in  and 
chatter  a  little  while;  perhaps  you  'd  enjoy  it." 

"O,  you're  very  kind!"  Rose  said,  dimly 
divining  that  this  was  a  valuable  privilege,  "but 
I  really  could  n't  do  it.  I  —  I  'm  not  up  to  that." 

"  O,  yes,  you  are.  You  'd  look  like  a  paint 
ing  by  Boldini  up  against  that  tapestry,  with 
your  hair  brought  low,  the  way  you  wore  it  con 
cert  night." 

Isabel  put  in  a  word.  "  It  is  n't  anything  to 
scare  you,  Rose.  It 's  hardly  more  formal  than 
at  college,  only  there  won't  be  any  men.  It  will 
introduce  you  to  some  nice  girls,  and  we  '11  make 
it  as  easy  for  you  as  we  can." 

"O,  yes,  indeed;  you  can  sit  at  the  table  with 
Isabel." 

"  O,  it  is  n't  that,"  Rose  said,  looking  down. 
"  I  have  n't  anything  suitable  to  wear."  She 
went  on  quickly,  as  if  to  put  an  end  to  the  whole 
matter.  "  I  'm  a  farmer's  girl  living  on  five 
hundred  dollars  a  year,  and  I  can  't  afford  fifty 
dollar  dresses.  I  have  n't  found  out  any  way  to 
earn  money,  and  I  can  't  ask  my  father  to  buy 
me  clothes  to  wear  at  teas.  You  all  are  very 
kind  to  me,  but  I  must  tell  you  that  it 's  all  out 
of  my  reach." 

322 


SOCIAL  QUESTIONS 

The  other  women  looked  at  each  other  while 
Rose  hurried  through  this.  Mrs.  Harvey  was 
prepared  at  the  close  : 

"There,  now,  my  dear!  don't  let  that 
trouble  you.  Any  simple  little  gown  will  do." 

"  It 's  out  of  the  question,  Mrs.  Harvey,  until 
I  can  buy  my  own  dresses.  I  can 't  ask  my 
father  to  buy  anything  more  than  is  strictly 
necessary." 

There  was  a  note  in  her  voice  which  seemed  to 
settle  the  matter. 

Isabel  said,  "  Perhaps  you  have  something 
made  up  that  will  do.  Won't  you  let  me  see 
what  you  have  ?  Certainly  the  dress  you  wore 
at  the  concert  became  you  well." 

"  If  you  have  anything  that  could  be  altered," 
Mrs.  Harvey  said,  "  I  have  a  dressmaker  in  the 
house  now.  She  could  easily  do  what  you  need. 
She's  looking  over  my  wardrobe." 

Rose  shook  her  head,  and  the  tears  came  to 
her  eyes. 

"  You  're  very,  very  kind,  but  it  would  n't  do 
any  good.  Suppose  I  got  a  dress  suitable  for  this 
afternoon,  it  would  n't  help  much.  It's  impos 
sible.  I  'd  better  keep  in  the  background  where 
I  belong." 

She  stubbornly  held  to  this  position  and 
Mrs.  Harvey  reluctantly  gave  up  her  plans  to  do 
something  for  her  socially. 

Rose  had  come  to  see  how  impossible  it  was 

323 


ROSE   OF   BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

for  her  to  take  part  in  the  society  world,  which 
Isabel  and  Mrs.  Harvey  made  possible  to  her. 
The  winter  was  thickening  with  balls  and  par 
ties;  the  society  columns  of  the  Sunday  papers 
were  full  of  "  events  past,"  and  "  events  to  come." 
Sometimes  she  wished  she  might  see  that  life,  at 
other  times  she  cared  little.  One  day,  when 
calling  upon  Isabel,  she  said  suddenly : 

"Do  you  know  how  my  father  earned  the 
money  which  I  spend  for  board  ?  He  gets  up 
in  the  morning,  before  any  one  else,  to  feed  the 
cattle  and  work  in  the  garden  and  take  care  of 
the  horses.  He  wears  old,  faded  clothes,  and 
his  hands  are  hard  and  crooked,  and  tremble 
when  he  raises  his  tea " 

She  stopped  and  broke  into  a  moan  —  "O,  it 
makes  my  heart  ache  to  think  of  him  alone  up 
there !  If  you  can  help  me  to  earn  a  living  I 
will  bless  you.  What  can  I  do  ?  I  thought  I 
was  right,  but  Mr.  Mason  made  me  feel  all 
wrong.  I  'm  discouraged  now ;  why  was  I 
born  ?  " 

Isabel  waited  until  her  storm  of  emotion 
passed,  then  she  said: 

"Do  n't  be  discouraged  yet,  and  do  n't  be  in 
haste  to  succeed.  You  are  only  beginning  to 
think  about  your  place  in  the  economy  of 
things.  You  are  costing  your  father  but  little 
now,  and  he  does  not  grudge  it ;  besides,  all 
.this  is  a  part  of  your  education.  Wait  a  year 

324 


SOCIAL  QUESTIONS 

and  then  we  will  see  what  you  had  better  do 
to  earn  a  living." 

They  were  in  her  library  and  Rose  sat  with 
her  hat  on  ready  to  go  back  to  her  boarding 
house.  Isabel  went  on,  after  a  time  spent  in 
thought: 

"  Now  the  social  question  is  not  so  hopeless 
as  you  think.  There  are  plenty  of  select  fine 
places  for  you  to  go  without  a  swagger  gown. 
Of  course,  there  is  a  very  small  circle  here  in 
Chicago  which  tries  to  be  ultra-fashionable,  but 
it 's  rather  difficult  because  Chicago  men  have 
something  else  to  do  and  won't  be  dragooned 
into  studying  Ward  McAllister.  You  '11  find 
the  people  here  mostly  good,  sensible  people, 
like  the  Harveys,  who  '11  enjoy  you  in  any 
nice,  quiet  dress.  You  can  meet  them  in 
formally  at  dinner  or  at  their  little  Sunday 
evening  in.  So  do  n't  you  take  any  more  trouble 
about  it,"  she  ended,  "  and  you  need  n't  pay 
me  for  the  lecture  either." 

Rose  answered  her  with  smiles: 

"  I  wish  I  could  feel —  I  wish  I  did  n't  care  a 
cent  about  it,  but  I  do.  I  do  n't  like  to  feel 
shut  out  of  any  place.  I  feel  the  equal  of  any 
I  one ;  I  was  brought  up  that  way,  and  I  do  n't 
like  to  be  on  the  outside  of  anything.  That 's 
a  dreadful  thing  to  say,  I  suppose,  but  that 's 
the  way  I  feel." 

"  I  'm  not  going  to  quarrel  with  you  about 

325 


ROSE  OF   BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

the  depth  of  your  depravity;  but  I  assure  you 
there  is  no  circle  in  Chicago  worth  knowing 
which  will  shut  you  out  because  you  are  a  poor 
girl.  Thank  heaven,  we  have  not  reached  to 
that  point  yet.  And  now  about  your  writing. 
I  believe  in  you.  I  liked  those  verses,  though 
I  may  not  be  an  acute  critic — Mr.  Mason  says 
I  'm  a  conservative,  and  he 's  probably  right. 
He  says  you  should  write  as  you  talk.  He  told 
me  you  had  remarkable  power  in  suggesting 
images  to  the  mind,  but  in  your  verse  the 
images  were  all  second-hand.  He  believes 
you  '11  come  to  your  own  themes  and  style 
soon." 

"  I  hope  so."  Her  answer  was  rather  spirit 
less  in  tone. 

"  There  's  another  thing,  Rose.  You  're  go 
ing  to  have  suitors  here  in  Chicago,  and  fine 
ones  too.  May  I  talk  with  you  about  that?" 

Rose  flushed  deeply  and  her  eyes  fell ;  she 
was  a  little  incoherent. 

"  Why,  yes — I  do  n't  see  any  reason — there 
is  n't  any  need  of  secrecy." 

Isabel  studied  her  from  a  little  distance. 

"  Rose,  tell  me:  how  is  it  that  you  did  n't 
marry  young,  as  so  many  poor  girls  do  ?  " 

Rose  considered  a  moment: 

"I  hardly  know  myself." 

"You  had  lovers,  always?" 

"  Yes,  always." 

326 


SOCIAL  QUESTIONS 

"  And  you  had  fancies,  too  ?  " 
"O  yes,  as  all  girls  do,  I  suppose." 
"Why  did  n't  you  marry  one  of  these?" 
"Well,  for  one  reason,  they  did  n't  please 
me  well  enough  —  I  mean  long  enough.     They 
grew  tiresome  after  awhile ;  and    then    I    was 
ambitious,  I  wanted  to  get  out  into  the  world. 
I  could  n't  marry  some  one  who  would  bind  me 
down  to  the  cook-stove  all  my  life,  and  then   I 
had  my  ideals  of  what  a  man  should  be  —  and, 
some  way,  the   boys   did  n't   interest  me   after 
awhile." 

"  I  think  I  understand  that.     You  're  going 
to  marry  some  time,  of  course." 

Rose  looked  down:     "Why,  yes,  I  suppose 
so — most  girls  do." 

"  Do  n't  think  I  'm  impertinent,  will  you,  but 
is  there  any — are  you  bound  to  any  one?" 
Rose  lifted  her  face. 
"  No,  I  am  as  free  as  any  woman." 
"I  'm  glad  of  that,  Rose.     I  was  afraid  you 
might    be  half-engaged     to    some  one  in    the 
college  or  back  in  the  valley.     It  makes  it  very 
fine  and  simple  if  you  can  enter  your  wider  life 
here,   free.      You  are  sure  to  marry,   and  you 
ought  to  marry  well." 

Rose  replied  a  little  disgustedly : 
"  I  hate  to  think  of  marrying  for  a  home,  and 
I  hate  to  think  of  marrying  as   a   profession. 
Writers  accuse  us  of  thinking  of  nothing  else, 

327 


ROSE   OF   BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

and  I  get  sick  and  tired  of  the  whole  thing.  I 
wish  I  was  just  a  plain  animal  or  had  no  sex  at 
all.  Sometimes  I  think  it  is  a  curse  to  be  a 
woman."  She  ended  fierce  and  sullen. 

Isabel  shrank  a  little: 

"  O  do  n't  be  too  hard  on  me,  Rose !  I  did  n't 
mean  to  anger  you." 

"  I  'm  not  angry  ;  the  things  I  want  to  say  I 
can 't  seem  to  say.  It  is  n't  your  fault  or  mine. 
It's  just  fate.  I  hate  to  think  of  'marrying 
well'—" 

"  I  think  I  understand,"  Isabel  said,  a  little 
appalled  at  the  storm  she  had  raised.  "I  haven't 
been  troubled  by  that  question  because  I  have  a 
profession,  and  have  something  to  think  about 
besides  marriage,  and  still  we  must  think  about 
it  enough  to  prepare  for  it.  The  world  must 
have  its  wives  and  mothers.  You  are  to  be  a 
wife  and  mother,  you  are  fitted  for  it  by  nature. 
Men  see  that — that  is  the  reason  you  are  never 
without  suitors.  All  I  was  going  to  say,  dear, 
was  this :  you  are  worthy  the  finest  and  truest 
man,  for  you  have  a  great  career,  I  feel  sure  of 
it — and  so — but  no,  I  '11  not  lecture  you  an 
other  minute.  You  're  a  stronger  woman  than  I 
ever  was,  and  I  feel  you  can  take  care  of  your 
self." 

"That's  just  it.  I  don't  feel  sure  of  that 
yet.  I  feel  dependent  upon  my  father  and  I 
ought  not  to  be;  I  'm  out  of  school,  I  'm  twen- 
328 


SOCIAL  QUESTIONS 

ty-three  years  of  age,  and  I  want  to  do  some 
thing.  I  must  do  something  —  and  I  don't 
want  to  marry  as  a — as  a — because  I  am  a 
failure." 

"  Nobody  wants  you  to  do  that,  Rose.  But 
you  didn't  mean  that  exactly.  You  mean  you 
did  n't  want  to  come  to  any  man  dependent.  I 
do  n't  think  you  will ;  you  '11  find  out  your  best 
holt,  as  the  men  say,  and  you  '11  succeed." 

Rose  looked  at  her  in  silence  a  moment : 

"  I  'm  going  to  confess  something,"  she 
finally  said  with  a  little  laugh.  "  I  hate  to  keep 
house.  I  hate  to  sew,  and  I  can 't  marry  a  man 
who  wants  me  to  do  the  way  other  women  do. 
I  must  be  intended  for  something  else  than  a 
housewife,  because  I  never  do  a  bit  of  cooking 
or  sewing  without  groaning.  I  like  to  paint 
fences  and  paper  walls;  but  I  'm  not  in  the  least 
domestic." 

Isabel  was  amused  at  the  serious  tone  in 
which  Rose  spoke. 

"  There  is  one  primal  event  which  can  change 
all  that.  I  've  seen  it  transform  a  score  of  wo 
men.  It  will  make  you  domestic  and  will  turn 
sewing  into  a  delight." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  Rose,  though 
more  than  half  guessing. 

"  I  mean  motherhood." 

The  girl  shrank,  and  sat  silent,  as  if  a  doom 
had  been  pronounced  upon  her. 

329 


ROSE  OF  DUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

"  That  is  what  marriage  must  mean  to  you 
and  to  me,"  Isabel  said,  and  her  face  had  an 
exultant  light  in  it.  "  I  love  my  profession — I 
am  ambitious  in  it,  but  I  could  bear  to  give  it 
all  up  a  hundred  times  over,  rather  than  my  hope 
^of  being  a  mother." 

The  girl  was  awed  almost  into  whispering. 

"  Does  it  mean  that — will  it  take  away  your 
power  as  a  physician?" 

"  No,  that 's  the  best  of  it  these  days.  If  a 
woman  has  brains  and  a  good  man  for  a  hus- , 
band,  it  broadens  her  powers.  I  feel  that  Dr. 
Sanborn  and  I  will  be  better  physicians  by 
being  father  and  mother.  O,  those  are  great 
words,  Rose!  Let  me  tell  you  they  are  broader 
than  poet  or  painter,  deeper  than  wife  or  hus 
band.  I  've  wanted  to  say  these  things  to  you, 
Rose.  You  've  escaped  reckless  marriage  some 
way,  now  let  me  warn  you  against  an  ambitious 
marriage —  " 

She  broke  off  suddenly.  "No,  I'll  stop. 
You  've  taken  care  of  yourself  so  far;  it  would  be 
strange  if  you  could  n't  now."  She  turned 
quickly  and  went  to  Rose.  "  I  love  you,"  she 
said.  "We  are  spiritual  sisters,  I  felt  that  the 
day  you  crushed  me.  I  like  women  who  do  not 
cry.  I  want  you  to  forgive  me  for  lecturing 
you,  and  I  want  you  to  go  on  following  the  lead 
of  your  mysterious  guide;  I  do  n't  know  what  it 
is  or,  rather,  who  he  is — " 

33° 


SOCIAL  QUESTIONS 

She  stopped  suddenly,  and  seating  herself  on 
the  arm  of  Rose's  chair,  smiled. 

"  I  believe  it  is  a  man,  somewhere.  Come 
now,  confess — who  is  he?" 

Quick  as  light  the  form  and  face  of  William 
De  Lisle  came  into  Rose's  thought,  and  she  said: 

"  He  's  a  circus  rider." 

Isabel  unclasped  Rose's  arm  and  faced  her. 

"  A  circus  rider!  " 

Rose  colored  hotly  and  looked  away. 

"I — can't  tell  you  about  it — you'd  laugh 
and — well,  I  do  n't  care  to  explain." 

Isabel  looked  at  her  with  comical  gravity. 

"  Do  you  know  what  you  've  done,  '  coolly ' 
girl  ?  You  know  the  common  opinion  of 
woman's  curiosity?  I  do  n't  believe  a  woman  is 
a  bit  more  curious  than  a  man,  only  a  woman  is 
curious  about  things  he  is  n't.  I  'm  suffering 
agonies  this  minute.  You  know  I  'm  an  alienist. 
I  've  studied  mad  people  so  much  I  know  just 
what  sends  them  off.  You  've  started  me.  If 
you  do  n't  explain  at  once — "  She  went  to  the 
door  and  called,  "  Etta!  Do  n't  disturb  me,  no 
matter  who  comes." 

"  Now  tell  me  about  it,"  she  said,  as  she  sat 
down  beside  Rose  and  studied  her  with  avid  eyes. 

"  Why,  it 's  nothing,"  Rose  began.  "  I  never 
spoke  to  him,  and  he  never  even  saw  me,  and  I 
never  saw  him  but  once — " 

"And  yet  he  influenced  your  whole  life?" 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

Rose  mused  a  moment: 

"  Yes,  I  can  see  it  now — I  never  realized  it 
before — he  has  helped  me  all  my  life." 

She  told  of  her  first  sight  of  him,  of  her  long 
ride  home,  of  her  thoughts  of  him,  reserving 
something,  of  course,  and  her  voice  grew  husky 
with  remembered  emotion.  She  uttered  more 
than  she  knew.  She  showed  the  keen  little 
woman  at  her  side  the  more  imaginative  side  of 
her  nature.  It  became  evident  to  Isabel  that  the 
beautiful  poise  of  the  head  and  supple  swing  of 
the  girl's  body  was  in  part  due  to  the  suggestion 
of  the  man's  perfect  grace.  His  idealized  face 
had  made  the  commonplace  apparent — had  led 
her,  lifted  her. 

"  Why,  it 's  all  a  poem!  "  she  exclaimed  at  the 
end.  "  It 's  magnificent;  and  you  thought  I  'd 
laugh!"  She  looked  reproachful.  "I  think  it's 
incredibly  beautiful.  What  was  his  name?  We 
may  meet  him  some  time — " 

Rose  drew  back  and  grew  hot  with  a  blush. 

"  Oh,  no — I  do  n't  want  to  see  him  now.  I  'm 
afraid  he  would  n't  seem  the  same  to  me  now." 

Isabel  considered.  "You're  right!  He  never 
really  existed.  He  was  a  product  of  your  own 
clean,  sweet  imagination,  but  let  me  tell  you — " 
she  made  a  swift  feminine  turn  to  the  trivial, 
"  You  '11  marry  a  tall,  lathy  man,  or  a  short,  dumpy 
man.  That's  the  way  things  go.  Really,  I'll 
need  to  keep  Doctor  and  Mason  out  of  the  house." 

332 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

A   STORM  AND   A   HELMSMAN 

In  quiet  wise  her  winter  wore  on.  In  a 
month  or  two  the  home  feeling  began  to  make 
itself  felt,  and  the  city  grew  less  appalling, 
though  hardly  less  oppressive.  There  were  mo 
ments  when  it  seemed  the  most  splendid  pres 
ence  in  the  world) — at  sunset,  when  'the  river 
was  crowded  with  shipping  and  the  great  build 
ings  loomed  up  blue  as  wood-smoke,  almost 
translucent ;  when  the  brick  walls  grew  wine- 
colored  ;  when  the  river  was  flooded  with  radi 
ance  from  the  western  sun,  and  the  great  steam 
ers  lay  like  birds  wearied  and  dreaming  after  a 
long  journey. 

Sometimes,  too,  at  night,  when  she  came  out 
of  the  concert  hall  and  saw  the  glittering  twin 
tiaras  of  burning  gold  which  the  Great  Northern 
towers  held  against  the  blue-black,  starless  sky, 
two  hundred  feel  above  the  pavement ;  or  when 
in  the  early  evening  she  approached  the  moun 
tainous  Temple,  luminous  and  sparkling  with 
electric  lights,  lifting  a  lighted  dome  as  airy  as 
a  bubble  three  hundred  feet  into  the  pale  sap 
phire  of  the  cloudless  sky — the  city  grew  lofty. 

333 


ROSE  OF   BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

The  gross,  the  confused  in  line,  the  prosy  in 
color,  disappeared  at  such  moments,  and  the 
city,  always  vast,  took  on  grace  and  charm  and 
softened  to  magnificence;  became  epic,  express 
ing  in  prophecy  that  which  it  must  attain  to; 
expressed  the  swift  coming  in  of  art  and  poetry 
in  the  lives  of  the  western  world-builders. 

She  grew  with  it  all ;  it  deepened  her  con 
ception  of  life,  but  she  could  not  write  of  it  for 
the  reason  that  it  was  too  near  and  too  multiple 
in  its  appeal  upon  her.  She  strove  daily  to  ar 
range  it  in  her  mind,  to  put  it  into  form,  and 
this  striving  wore  upon  her  severely.  She  lost 
some  of  her  superb  color  and  physical  elasticity 
because  of  it,  and  became  each  week  a  little  less 
distinctive  exteriorly,  which  was  a  decided  loss, 
Mason  told  Isabel. 

"She  isn't  losing  anything  very  real,"  Isabel 
said.  "  She's  just  as  unaccountable  as  ever.  She 
goes  out  much  less  than  you  imagine.  I  take 
her  out,  and  send  her,  all  I  can  to  keep  her  from 
getting  morbid.  Why  do  n't  you  come  oftener 
and  help  me  ?  " 

"  Self-protection,"  said  Mason. 

"Are  you  afraid  of  a  country  girl?" 

"  O,  no  —  afraid  of  myself." 

"  How  much  do  you  mean  of  that,  Warren  ?  " 

"All  of  it." 

She  wrinkled  her  brow  in  disgust  of  his  con 
cealing  candor. 

334 


A  STORM  AND  A  HELMSMAN 

"  O,you  are  impossible  in  that  mood!" 

As  the  winter  deepened  Rose  narrowed  the 
circle  of  conquest.  She  no  longer  thought  of 
conquering  the  world;  it  came  to  be  the  question 
of  winning  the  approbation  of  one  human  soul. 
That  is,  she  wished  to  win  the  approbation  of 
the  world  in  order  that  Warren  Mason  might 
smile  and  say  "  Well  done!" 

She  did  not  reach  this  state  of  mind  smoothly 
and  easily.  On  the  contrary,  she  had  moments 
when  she  rebelled  at  the  thought  of  any  man's 
opinion  being  the  greatest  good  in  the  world  to 
her.  She  rebelled  at  the  implied  inferiority  of 
her  position  in  relation  to  him  and  also  at  the 
physical  bondage  implied.  In  the  morning 
when  she  was  strong,  in  the  midst  of  some  social 
success,  when  people  swarmed  about  her  and 
men  bent  deferentially,  then  she  held  herself 
like  a  soldier  on  a  tower  defying  capture. 

But  at  night,  when  the  lights  were  all  out, 
when  she  felt  her  essential  loneliness  and  weak 
ness,  and  need — when  the  world  seemed  cold  and 
cruel  and  selfish,  then  it  seemed  as  if  the  sweet 
est  thing  in  the  universe  would  be  to  have  him 
open  his  arms  and  say  "Come!" 

There  would  be  rest  there  and  repose.  His 
judgment,  his  keen  wit,  his  penetrating,  power 
ful  influence,  made  him  seem  a  giant  to  her,  a 
giant  who  disdained  effort  and  gave  out  an 
appearance  of  indifference  and  lassitude.  She 

335 


ROSE   OF   BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

had  known  physical  giants  in  her  neighborhood 
who  spoke  in  soft  drawl,  and  slouched  lazily 
in  action,  but  who  were  invincible  when 
aroused. 

She  imagined  she  perceived  in  Mason  a 
mental  giant,  who  assumed  irresolution  and  weak 
ness  for  reasons  of  his  own.  He  was  always  off 
duty  when  she  saw  him,  and  bent  more  upon 
rest  than  a  display  of  power.  Once  or  twice  she 
saw  him  roused,  and  it  thrilled  her ;  that  meas 
ured  lazy  roll  of  voice  changed  to  a  quick,  stern 
snarl,  the  brows  lowered  and  the  big,  plump  face 
took  on  battle  lines.  It  was  like  a  seemingly 
shallow  pool  suddenly  disclosed  to  be  of  sound 
less  depths  by  a  wind  of  passion. 

The  lake  had  been  the  refuge  of  the  distracted 
and  restless  girl.  She  went  to  it  often  in  the 
autumn  days,  for  it  rested  her  from  the  noise  of 
grinding  wheels,  and  screams  and  yells.  Its 
smooth  rise  and  fall,  its  sparkle  of  white-caps,  its 
sailing  gulls,  filled  her  with  delicious  pleasure. 
It  soothed  her  and  it  roused  her  also.  It  gave 
her  time  to  think. 

The  street  disturbed  her,  left  her  purposeless 
and  powerless,  but  out  there  where  the  ships 
floated  like  shadows,  and  shadows  shifted  like 
flame,  and  the  wind  was  keen  and  sweet — there 
she  could  get  her  mental  breath  again.  She 
watched  it  change  to  wintry  desolation,  till  it 
grew  empty  of  vessels  and  was  lonely  as  the 

336 


A  STORM   AND  A  HELMSMAN 

$ 

Arctic  sea,  and  always  it  was  grand  and  thought- 
inspiring. 

She  went  out  one  day  in  March  when  the 
home  longing  was  upon  her  and  when  it  seemed 
that  the  city  would  be  her  death.  She  was  tired 
of  her  food,  tired  of  Mary,  tired  of  her  room. 
Her  forehead  was  knotted  tensely  with  pain  of 
life  and  love — 

She  cried  out  with  sudden  joy,  for  she  had 
never  seen  the  lake  more  beautiful.  Near  the 
shore  a  great  mass  of  churned  and  heaving  ice 
and  snow  lay  like  a  robe  of  shaggy  fur.  Beyond 
this  the  deep  water  spread,  a  vivid  pea-green 
broken  by  wide,  irregular  strips  of  dark  purple. 
In  the  open  water  by  the  wall  a  spatter  of  steel- 
blue  lay  like  the  petals  of  some  strange  flower, 
scattered  upon  the  green. 

Great  splendid  clouds  developed,  marvel- 
ously  like  the  clouds  of  June,  making  the  girl's 
heart  swell  with  memories  of  summer.  They 
were  white  as  wool,  these  mountainous  clouds, 
and  bottomed  in  violet,  and  as  they  passed 
the  snow-fields  they  sent  down  pink-purple, 
misty  shadows,  which  trailed  away  in  splendor 
toward  the  green  which  flamed  in  bewildering 
beauty  beyond.  The  girl  sat  like  one  in  a 
dream  while  the  wind  blew  the  green  and  pur 
ple  of  the  outer  sea  into  fantastic,  flitting  forms 
which  dazzled  her  eyes  like  the  stream  of  min 
gled  banners. 

337 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

Each  form  seemed  more  beautiful  than  the 
preceding  one  ;  each  combination  had  such  un 
earthly  radiance,  her  heart  ached  with  exquisite 
sorrow  to  see  it  vanish.  The  girl  felt  that 
spring  was  coming  on  the  wing  of  the  southern 
wind,  and  the  desire  to  utter  her  passion  grew 
almost  into  pain. 

It  had  other  moods,  this  mighty  spread  of 
water.  It  could  be  angry,  dangerous.  Some 
times  it  rolled  sullenly,  and  convoluted  in  oily 
surges  beneath  its  coverlid  of  snow,  like  a  bed  of 
monstrous  serpents.  Sometimes  the  leaden  sky 
shut  down  over  it,  and  from  the  desolate  north 
east  a  snowstorm  rushed,  hissing  and  howling. 
Sometimes  it  slumbered  for  days,  quiet  as  a 
sleeping  boa,  then  awoke  and  was  a  presence  and 
a  voice  in  the  night,  fit  to  make  the  hardiest 
tremble. 

Rose  saw  it  when  it  was  roused,  but  she  had 
yet  to  see  it  in  a  frenzy.  The  knowledge  of  its 
worst  came  to  her  early  in  May,  just  before  her 
return  to  the  coule". 

The  day  broke  with  the  wind  in  the  north 
east.  Rose,  lying  in  her  bed,  could  hear  the 
roar  of  the  lake ;  never  before  had  its  voice 
penetrated  so  far.  She  sprang  up  and  dressed, 
eager  to  see  it  in  such  a  mood.  Mary  responded 
sleepily  to  her  call,  saying  the  lake  would  be 
there  after  breakfast. 

Rose  did  not  regret  her  eagerness,  though  it 

338 


A  STORM  AND  A   HELMSMAN 

was  piercingly  cold  and  raw.  The  sea  was 
already  terrific.  Its  spread  of  tawny  yellow 
showed  how  it  had  reached  down  and  laid  hold 
on  the  sand  of  its  bed.  There  were  oily  splotches 
of  plum-color  scattered  over  it  where  the  wind 
blew  it  smooth  and  it  reached  to  the  wild  east 
sky,  cold,  desolate,  destructive. 

It  had  a  fierce,  breathing  snarl  like  a  monster 
at  meat.  It  leaped  against  the  sea-wall  like  a 
rabid  tiger,  its  sleek  and  spotted  hide  rolling. 
Every  surge  sent  a  triangular  sheet  of  foam 
twenty-five  feet  above  the  wall,  yellow  and 
white,  and  shadowed  with  dull  blue;  and  the 
wind  caught  it  as  it  rose,  and  its  crest  burst  into 
great  clouds  of  spray,  which  sailed  across  the 
streets  and  dashed  along  the  walk  like  rain, 
making  the  roadway  like  a  river;  while  the  main 
body  of  each  up-leaping  wave,falling  back  astride 
the  wall,  crashed  like  the  fall  of  glass,  and  the 
next  wave  met  it  with  a  growl  of  thunderous 
rage,  striking  it  with  concave  palm,  with  a  sound 
like  a  cannon's  exploding  roar. 

Out  of  the  appalling  obscurity  to  the  north 
frightened  ships  scudded  at  intervals  with  bare 
masts  bending  like  fire-trimmed  pines.  They 
hastened  like  homing  pigeons  which  do  not 
look  behind.  The  helmsmen  stood  grimly  at 
their  wheels,  with  eyes  on  the  harbor  ahead. 

The  girl  felt  it  all  as  no  one  native  to  the  sea 
can  possibly  do.  It  seemed  as  if  the  bounds  of 

339 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

the  flood  had  been  overcome,  and  that  it  was 
about  to  hurl  itself  upon  the  land.  The  slender 
trees,  standing  deep  in  the  swash  of  water,  bowed 
like  women  in  pain;  the  wall  was  half  hidden, 
and  the  flood  and  the  land  seemed  mingled  in 
battle. 

Rose  walked  along  the  shore,  too  much  ex 
cited  to  go  back  to  her  breakfast.  At  noon 
she  ate  lunch  hurriedly  and  returned  to  the 
shore.  There  were  hundreds  of  people  coming 
and  going  along  the  drive  ;  young  girls  shriek 
ing  with  glee,  as  the  sailing  clouds  of  spray  fell 
upon  them.  Rose  felt  angry  to  think  they  could 
be  so  silly  in  face  of  such  dreadful  power. 

She  came  upon  Mason,  dressed  in  a  thick 
mackintosh  coat,  taking  notes  rapidly  in  a  little 
book.  He  did  not  look  up  and  she  passed  him, 
wishing  to  speak,  yet  afraid  to  speak.  Near  him 
a  young  man  was  sketching. 

Mason  stood  like  a  rock  in  his  long,  close- 
fitting  raincoat,  while  she  was  blown  nearly  off 
her  feet  by  the  blast.  She  came  back  against  the 
wind,  feeling  her  soul's  internal  storm  rising.  It 
seemed  quite  like  a  proposal  of  marriage  to  go 
up  and  speak  to  him — yet  she  could  not  forego 
the  pleasure. 

He  did  not  see  her  until  she  came  into  his 
lee,  then  he  smiled,  extending  his  hand.  She 
spoke  first : 

"May  I  take  shelter  here  ?" 

340 


A  STORM  AND  A  HELMSMAN 

His  eyes  lightened  with  a  sudden  tender 
humor. 

"Free  anchorage,"  he  said,  and  drew  her  by 
the  hand  closer  to  his  shoulder.  It  was  a  beau 
tiful  moment  to  her,  and  a  dangerous  one  to 
him.  He  took  refuge  in  outside  matters. 

"How  does  that  strike  your  inland  eyes?" 
He  pointed  to  the  north. 

"It's  awful.  It's  like  the  anger  of  God." 
She  spoke  into  his  bowed  ear. 

"Please  don't  think  I'm  reporting  it,"  he  ex 
plained.  "  I'm  only  making  a  few  notes  about 
it  for  an  editorial  on  the  need  of  harbors."  Each 
moment  the  fury  increased,  the  waves  deepened. 
The  commotion  sank  down  amid  the  sands  of 
the  deeper  inshore  water,  and  it  boiled  like  milk. 
Splendid  colors  grew  into  it  near  at  hand ;  the 
winds  tore  at  the  tops  of  the  waves,  and  wove 
them  into  tawny  banners  which  blurred  the  air 
like  blown  sand.  On  the  horizon  the  waves 
leaped  in  savage  ranks,  clutching  at  the  sky  like 
insane  sea-monsters,  frantic,  futile. 

"I've  seen  the  Atlantic  twice  during  a  gale," 
shouted  the  artist  to  a  companion,  "but  I  never 
saw  anything  more  awful  than  this.  These  waves 
are  quicker  and  higher.  I  do  n't  see  how  a 
vessel  could  live  in  it  if  caught  broadside." 

"It 's  the  worst  I  ever  saw  here." 

"I'm  going  down  to  the  south  side;  would 
you  like  to  go  ?"  Mason  asked  of  Rose. 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

"I  would,  indeed,"  she  replied. 

Back  from  the  lake  shore  the  wind  was  less 
powerful  but  more  uncertain.  It  came  in  gusts 
which  nearly  upturned  the  street  cars.  Men  and 
women  scudded  from  shelter  to  shelter  like  be- 
leagured  citizens  avoiding  cannon  shots. 

"What  makes  our  lake  so  terrible,"  said 
Mason,  in  the  car,  "  is  the  fact  that  it  has  a 
smooth  shore — no  indentations,  no  harbors. 
There  is  only  one  harbor  here  at  Chicago,  behind 
the  breakwater,  and  every  vessel  in  mid-lake 
must  come  here.  Those  flying  ships  are  seeking 
safety  here  like  birds.  The  harbor  will  be  full 
of  disabled  vessels." 

As  they  left  the  car  a  roaring  gust  swept 
around  a  twenty-story  building  with  such  power 
Rose  would  have  been  taken  off  her  feet  had 
not  Mason  put  his  arm  about  her  shoulders. 

"You're  at  a  disadvantage,"  he  said,  "with 
skirts."  He  knew  she  prided  herself  on  her 
strength,  and  he  took  no  credit  to  himself  for 
standing  where  she  fell. 

It  was  precisely  as  if  they  were  alone  together: 
the  storm  seemed  to  wall  them  in,  and  his  man 
ner  was  more  intimate  than  ever  before.  It  was 
in  very  truth  the  first  time  they  had  been  out 
together,  and  also  it  was  the  only  time  he  had 
assumed  any  physical  care  of  her.  He  had  never 
asserted  his  greater  muscular  power  and  mastery 
of  material  things,  and  she  was  amazed  to  see 

342 


A  STORM  AND  A  HELMSMAN 

that  his  lethargy  was  only  a  mood.  He  could 
be  alert  and  agile  at  need.  It  made  his  cyni 
cism  appear  to  be  a  mood  also;  at  least,  it  made 
her  heart  wondrously  light  to  think  so. 

They  came  upon  the  lake  shore  again,  near 
the  Auditorium.  The  refuge  behind  the  break 
water  was  full  of  boats,  straining  at  anchor, 
rolling,  pitching,  crashing  together.  Close 
about  the  edge  of  the  breakwater  ships  were 
rounding  hurriedly,  and  two  broken  vessels  lay 
against  the  shore,  threshing  up  and  down  in  the 
awful  grasp  of  the  breakers.  Far  down  toward 
the  south  the  water  dashed  against  the  spiles, 
shooting  fifty  feet  above  the  wall,  sailing  like 
smoke,  deluging  the  street,  and  lashing  against 
the  row  of  buildings  across  the  way. 

Mason's  keen  eye  took  in  the  situation  : 

"Every  vessel  that  breaks  anchor  is  doomed! 
Nothing  can  keep  them  from  going  on  shore. 
Doubtless  those  two  schooners  lost  anchor — that 
one  there  is  dragging  anchor."  He  said  sud 
denly,  "  She  is  shifting  position,  and  see  that 
hulk  — " 

Rose  for  a  moment  could  not  see  it.  She  lay 
flat  on  her  side,  a  two-master,  her  sails  flapping 
and  floating  on  the  waves.  Her  anchor  still  held, 
but  she  had  listed  her  cargo,  careened,  and  so 
lay  helpless. 

"There   are   men   on   it!"   cried   some    one. 


343 


ROSE  OF  DUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

"  Three  men — do  n't  you  see  them  ?     The  water 
goes  over  them  every  time  !  " 

"  Sure  enough  1  I  wonder  if  they  are  going 
to  let  them  drown,  here  in  the  harbor ! " 

Rose  grew  numb  with  horror.  On  the 
rounded  side  of  the  floating  hulk  three  men 
were  clinging,  looking  like  pegs  of  tops.  They 
could  only  be  seen  at  intervals,  for  the  water 
broke  clear  over  their  heads.  It  was  only  when 
one  of  them  began  to  move  to  and  fro  that  the 
mighty  crowd  became  certainly  aware  of  life 
still  clinging  to  the  hull. 

It  was  an  awful  thing  to  stand  helplessly  by, 
and  see  those  brave  men  battle,  but  no  life-boat  or 
tug  could  live  out  there.  In  the  station  men 
wept  and  imprecated  in  their  despair — twice 
they  tried  to  go  to  the  rescue  of  the  beleaguered 
men,  but  could  not  reach  them. 

Suddenly  a  flare  of  yellow  spread  out  on  the 
wave.     A  cry  arose  : 

"  She 's  breaking  up  !  " 

Rose  seized  Mason's  arm  in  a  frenzy  of 
horror. 

"  O  God  !  can  't  somebody  help  them  ?" 

"  They  're  out  of  reach ! "  said  Mason 
solemnly.  And  then  the  throng  was  silent. 

"They  are  building  a  raft !"  shouted  a  man 
with  a  glass,  speaking  at  intervals  for  the  infor 
mation  of  all.  "  One  man  is  tying  a  rope  to 
planks  .  .  .  .  he  is  helping  the  other  men.  .  .  . 

344 


A  STORM   AND  A  HELMSMAN 

he  has  his  little  raft  nearly  ready  ....  they  are 
crawling  toward  him — " 

"  O  see  them ! "  exclaimed  Rose.  "  O  the  brave 
men  !  There  !  they  are  gone — the  vessel  has 
broken  up." 

On  the  wave  nothing  now  lived  but  a  yellow 
spread  of  lumber ;  the  glass  revealed  no  living 
thing. 

Mason  turned  to  Rose  with  a  grave  and  ten 
der  look. 

"  You  have  seen  human  beings  engulfed  like 
flies  — " 

"  No !  no  !  There  they  are  ! "  shouted  a  hun 
dred  voices,  as  if  in  answer  to  Mason's  thought. 

Thereafter  the  whole  great  city  seemed  to  be 
watching  those  specks  of  human  life,  drifting 
toward  almost  certain  death  upon  the  breakwater 
of  the  south  shore.  For  miles  the  beach  was 
clustered  black  with  people.  They  stood  there, 
it  seemed  for  hours,  watching  the  slow  approach 
of  that  tiny  raft.  Again  and  again  the  waves 
swept  over  it,  and  each  time  that  indomitable 
man  rose  from  the  flood  and  was  seen  to  pull  his 
companions  aboard. 

Other  vessels  drifted  upon  the  rocks.  Other 
steamers  rolled  heavily  around  the  long  break 
water,  but  nothing  now  distracted  the  gaze  of 
the  multitude  from  this  appalling  and  amazing 
struggle  against  death.  Nothing  ?  No,  once 
and  only  once  did  the  onlookers  shift  their  in- 

345 


ROSE   OF   DUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

tent  gaze,  and  that  was  when  a  vessel  passed  the 
breakwater  and  went  sailing  toward  the  south 
through  the  fleet  of  anchored,  straining,  agonized 
ships.  At  first  no  one  paid  much  attention  to 
this  late-comer  till  Mason  lifted  his  voice. 

"By  Heaven,  the  man  is  sailing /" 

It  was  true  ;  steady,  swift,  undeviating,  the 
vessel  headed  through  the  fleet.  She  did  not 
drift  nor  wander  nor  hesitate.  She  sailed  as  if 
the  helmsman,  with  set  teeth,  were  saying  ; 

"By  God  !  If  I  must  die  on  the  rocks,  I'll 
go  to  my  death  the  captain  of  my  vessel ! " 

And  so,  with  wheel  in  his  hand  and  epic 
oaths  in  his  mouth,  he  sailed  directly  into  the 
long  row  of  spiles,  over  which  the  waves  ran 
like  hell-hounds  ;  where  half  a  score  of  wrecks 
lay  already  churning  into  fragments  in  the  awful 
tumult. 

The  sailing  vessel  seemed  not  to  waver,  nor 
seek  nor  dodge  - —  seemed  rather  to  choose  the 
most  deadly  battle-place  of  waves  and  wall. 

"  God  !  but  that 's  magnificent  of  him  !  "  Ma 
son  said  to  himself. 

Rose  held  her  breath,  her  face  white  and  set 
with  horror. 

"  O  must  he  die  ?  " 

"There  is  no  hope  for  him.  She  will  strike 
in  a  moment  —  she  strikes  !  —  she  is  gone  !  " 

The  vessel  entered  the  grey  confusion  of  the 
.breakers  and  struck  the  piles  like  a  battering 
346 


A  STORM  AND  A   HELMSMAN 

ram  ;  the  waves  buried  her  from  sight  ;  then  the 
recoil  flung  her  back;  for  the  first  time  she  swung 
broadside  to  the  storm.  The  work  of  the  helms 
man  was  over.  She  reeled  —  resisted  an  instant, 
then  submitted  to  her  fate,  crumbled  against  the 
pitiless  wall  like  paper  and  thereafter  was  lost  to 
sight. 

This  dramatic  and  terrible  scene  had  held 
the  attention  of  the  onlookers  —  once  more 
they  searched  for  the  tiny  raft.  It  was  nearing 
the  lake  wall  at  another  furious  point  of  contact. 
An  innumerable  crowd  spread  like  a  black  robe 
over  the  shore  waiting  to  see  the  tiny  float  strike. 

A  hush  fell  over  every  voice.  Each  soul  was 
solemn  as  if  facing  the  Maker  of  the  world. 
Out  on  the  point,  just  where  the  doomed  sailors 
seemed  like  to  strike,  there  was  a  little  commo 
tion.  A  tiny  figure  was  seen  perched  on  one  of 
the  spiles.  Each  wave,  as  it  towered  above  him, 
seemed  ready  to  sweep  him  away,  but  each  time 
he  bowed  his  head  and  seemed  to  sweep  through 
the  gray  wall.  He  was  a  negro  and  he  held  a 
rope  in  his  hands. 

As  they  comprehended  his  danger  the  crowd 
cheered  him,  but  in  the  thunder  of  the  surf  no 
human  voice  could  avail.  The  bold  negro  could 
not  cry  out,  he  could  only  motion,  but  the  brave 
man  on  the  raft  saw  his  purpose  —  he  was  alone 
with  the  shipwrecked  ones. 

In  they  came,  lifted  and  hurled  by  a  prodi- 

347 


ROSE   OF   BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

gious  swell.     They  struck  the  wall  just  beneath 
the  negro  and  disappeared  beneath  the  waves. 

All  seemed  over,  and  some  of  the  spectators 
fell  weeping;  others  turned  away. 

Suddenly  the  indomitable  commander  of  the 
raft  rose,  then  his  companions,  and  then  it  was 
perceived  that  he  had  bound  them  all  to  the  raft. 

The  negro  flung  his  rope  and  one  man  caught 
at  it,  but  it  was  swept  out  of  reach  on  a  back 
ward  leaping  billow.  Again  they  came  in,  their 
white,  strained,  set  faces  and  wild  eyes  turned  to 
the  intrepid  rescuer.  Again  they  struck,  and 
this  time  the  negro  caught  and  held  one  of  the 
sailors,  held  him  while  the  foam  fell  away,  and 
the  succeeding  wave  swept  him  over  the  spiles  to 
safety.  Again  the  resolute  man  flung  his  noose 
and  caught  the  second  sailor,  whose  rope  was 
cut  by  the  leader,  the  captain,  who  was  last  to  be 
saved. 

As  the  negro  came  back,  dragging  his  third 
man  over  the  wall,  a  mighty  cry  went  up,  a 
strange,  faint,  multitudinous  cry,  and  the  negro 
was  swallowed  up  in  the  multitude. 

*  *  *  * 

Mason  turned  to  Rose  and  spoke:  "Some 
times  men  seem  to  be  worth  while!" 

Rose  was  still  clinging  to  his  arm  as  they 
walked  away.  Mason  did  not  speak  again  for 
some  time. 

"  We  have  suffered  in  vain,"  he  said  at  last, 

348 


A  STORM  AND  A  HELMSMAN 

"  and  you  are  cold  and  stiffened  with  long 
standing.  Let  me  put  you  in  a  cab  and — " 

"Oh,  no,  thank  you!  The  walk  will  do  me 
good." 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right.  I  '11  go  with  you  to 
the  car,  and  then  I  must  go  to  my  desk  for  six 
hours  of  hard  work.  Put  this  behind  you,"  he 
said  tenderly.  "  It  does  no  good  to  suffer  over 
the  inevitable.  Forget  those  men!" 

"I  can't!  I  shall  never  forget  them  while  I 
live.  It  was  awful!"  She  shuddered,  but  when 
she  looked  into  his  face  she  nearly  cried  out  in 
astonishment  at  the  light  in  his  eyes. 

"  It  had  its  grandeur.  They  went  to  their 
death  like  men.  They  have  taught  me  a  lesson. 
Hitherto  I  have  drifted — henceforth  /  sail!  " 
He  bent  to  her  with  a  mystical  smile. 

She  drew  away  in  a  sort  of  awe  as  if  she 
looked  unworthily  upon  a  sacred  place.  He  mis 
understood  her  action  and  said,  "  Do  n't  be 
afraid.  I  have  something  to  say  to  you,  but 
not  here;  perhaps  I  '11  write  it.  When  do  you  go?" 

"  On  Saturday." 

"  I  will  write  you  soon.     Good  bye." 

She  watched  him  as  he  moved  away  into 
the  crowd,  with  powerful  erect  body — the  desk- 
man's  droop  almost  gone  out  of  his  shoulders. 
What  did  he  mean? 

She  was  standing  waiting  for  a  chance  to 
board  a  car  when  Elbert  Harvey  came  pushing 

349 


ROSE  OF  DUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

along  against  the  wind,  fresh  and  strong  and 
glowing  with  color  like  a  girl. 

"  O,  I  've  been  looking  for  you,  Rose,"  he 
said.  "  I  was  at  your  house.  They  said  you 
were  over  on  the  lake  front  and  so — See  here! 
You  're  all  wet  and  cold.  I  'm  going  to  get  a 
carriage." 

He  would  not  be  gainsaid,  and  she  was 
really  glad  to  escape  the  crowd  in  the  car.  He 
said:  "  I  'm  going  to  take  you  home  to  get  warm." 

She  allowed  herself  to  be  driven  to  the  door 
before  she  realized  what  it  might  be  taken  to 
mean,  but  it  was  then  too  late  to  insist  on  being 
driven  home,  it  would  do  no  harm  to  see  Mrs. 
Harvey  for  a  moment — and  then  she  was  so 
tired,  too  tired  to  resist. 

Mrs.  Harvey  met  her  in  the  hall,  smiling  and 
scolding: 

"Why,  you  reckless  girl!  Have  you  been 
down  town?  Elbert,  where  did  you  get  her?" 

"  I  found  her  on  the  street  waiting  for  a  State 
street  car — shivering,  too." 

"Why,  you're  all  wet!  Come  up  to  my  room 
and  change  your  shoes." 

The  warm  air  and  the  glow  of  the  beautiful 
rooms  seemed  to  narcotize  her,  and  Rose  allowed 
herself  to  be  led  away  like  a  sleepy  child.  It 
was  delicious  to  be  so  attended.  Mrs.  Harvey 
took  her  to  her  own  room,  a  room  as  big  and 
comfortable  and  home-y  as  herself,  and  there  she 

35° 


A  STORM  AND  A  HELMSMAN 

put  Rose  down  before  the  grateful  fire  and  rang 
for  her  maid. 

"Annette,  remove  Mademoiselle's  shoes  and 
give  her  some  slippers." 

The  deft  girl  removed  Rose's  wraps,  then  her 
shoes,  while  Mrs.  Harvey  knelt  by  her  side  and 
felt  of  her  stocking  soles. 

"  They  're  wet,  just  as  I  expected."  She  said 
joyfully,  "Take  them  off!" 

"  O,  no!     They  '11  dry  in  a  minute." 

"  Take  them  off ,  Annette,"  commanded  Mrs. 
Harvey.  "O,what  lovely  feet  and  ankles!"  she 
said,  and  so  betrayed  her  not  too  subtle  design  to 
Rose. 

Rose  was  passive  now,  and  yielded  to  the 
manipulations  of  the  two  women.  They  all  had 
a  gale  of  fun  over  the  difference  between  Mrs. 
Harvey's  stockings  and  her  own,  and  then  they 
brought  out  a  fantastic  pair  of  slippers  and  a 
beautiful  wrap,  which  Mrs.  Harvey  insisted  upon 
putting  about  her. 

At  about  this  time  Elbert  knocked  on  the  door. 

"  Can  't  I  come  in  and  share  the  fun,  Caro 
line  ?  " 

"In  a  moment!"  she  replied,  and  finished 
tucking  the  robe  about  Rose.  "  Now  you  may." 

Elbert  came  in,  radiant,  unabashed,  smiling, 
almost  grinning  his  delight.  He  had  changed 
his  dress  to  a  neat  and  exquisitely  fitting  dark 
suit,  and  he  looked  very  handsome  indeed.  His 

351 


ROSE   OF   BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

cheeks  were  like  peaches,  with  much  the  same 
sort  of  fuzz  over  them. 

He  took  a  place  near  the  fire  where  he  could 
see  Rose,  and  he  signaled  to  his  mother  at  the 
earliest  chance  that  she  was  stunning. 

Rose  lay  back  in  the  chair  with  the  robe 
drawn  about  her,  looking  the  grande  dame  from 
her  crown  of  hair  to  the  tasseled  toes  of  her  slip 
pers.  She  might  almost  have  been  Colombe  on 
the  eve  of  her  birthday. 

It  was  delicious,  and  she  had  not  heart  or 
resolution  at  the  moment  to  throw  off  this  hom 
age.  She  knew  that  Mrs.  Harvey  was  misread 
ing  her  acquiescence,  and  that  every  moment 
she  submitted  to  her  care  and  motherly  direc 
tion,  involved  her,  enmeshed  her.  But  it  was  so 
delicious  to  be  a  princess  and  an  heiress — for 
an  hour. 

The  whole  situation  was  intensified  when  Mr. 
Harvey's  soft  tenor  voice  called  : 

"  Where  is  everybody  ?  " 

"  Come  up  ;  here  we  are!  There  's  somebody 
here  you  '11  want  to  see." 

Mr.  Harvey  came  in  smiling,  looking  as  calm 
and  contained  as  if  he  were  just  risen  from  sleep. 
He  was  almost  as  exquisitely  dressed  as  his  son. 

"  Well !  well  !  This  is  a  pleasure,"  he  cor 
dially  exclaimed.  "  What 's  the  meaning  of  the 
wrap  ;  not  sick  ?  " 

"  Elbert  picked  her  up  on  the  street,  wet  and 

352 


A  STORM  AND  A  HELMSMAN 

shivering,  waiting  for  a  car,  and  brought  her 
home." 

"  Quite  right.  We  're  always  glad  to  see  you. 
Did  you  give  her  a  little  cordial,  Caroline?  In 
case  of  cold — " 

Rose  protested.  "  I'm  not  sick,  Mr.  Harvey, 
only  tired.  I  've  been  out  all  the  day  watching 
the  dreadful  storm.  I  saw  those  ships  go  on  the 
rocks.  O,  it  was  dreadful!" 

"Did  you  see  the  three  men  on  the  raft?" 
asked  Elbert. 

Rose  shuddered.  How  far  away  she  was 
from  that  cold,  gray  tumult  of  water.  Of  what 
manner  of  men  were  they  who  could  battle  so 
for  hours  in  the  freezing  sleet  ? 

"Well,  now,  we  won't  talk  about  the  storm 
any  more,"  Mrs.  Harvey  interposed.  "  It  does 
no  good,  and  Rose  has  had  too  much  of  it 
already.  Besides,  it 's  almost  dinner  time,  Mr. 
Harvey.  Go  dress!" 

There  was  not  a  thread  ruffled  on  Mr.  Harvey's 
person,  but  he  dutifully  withdrew.  He  had  had 
a  busy  day,  and  had  transacted  business  which 
affected  whole  states  by  its  influence,  yet  he  was 
quiet,  cordial,  exquisite. 

"What  does  this  mean,  my  dear?"  he  asked 
of  Mrs.  Harvey,  who  followed  him  out. 

"It  may  mean  a  great  deal,  Willis,"  she  said. 
"All  I  know  is  Elbert  brought  her  home,  his 
eyes  shining  with  delight." 

353 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

"Not  to  be  wondered  at,"  Mr.  Harvey  re 
plied.  "  I'm  only  afraid  of  actresses,"  he  added 
a  little  incoherently,  but  his  wife  understood  him. 

Elbert  was  not  lacking  in  adroitness.  He 
did  not  presume  on  his  position  during  his 
mother's  absence.  He  remained  standing  in  the 
same  position. 

"  How  do  you  like  coddling  ?  Now,  you  see 
what  I  get  when  I  dare  to  sneeze.  Caroline 
will  coddle  any  one  into  regular  sickness  if  you 
let  her." 

"I  was  chilled,  but  I  am  not  sick  in  the 
least." 

"  You  'd  better  straighten  up  and  shout  at 
her  when  she  comes  in,  or  she  '11  be  for  sending 
your  dinner  up  to  you,  and  I  do  n't  want  that." 

"O,  I  must  go  home,  now." 

"Not  till  after  dinner." 

"I  'm  not — dressed  for  dinner." 

"There  's  nobody  here  but  ourselves.  You 
must  stay." 

Every  one  seemed  determined  to  press  her 
into  a  false  position,  and  there  was  so  little 
chance  to  throw  the  influence  off. 

She  rose  out  of  her  cloak,  and  when  Mrs. 
Harvey  came  back  she  was  standing  before  the 
fire  with  Elbert — which  seemed  also  to  be  signif 
icant. 

"Caroline,  do  n't  coddle  Rose  any  more; 
she  's  all  right." 

354 


A  STORM  AND  A  HELMSMAN 

Mrs.  Harvey  accepted  this  command,  because 
it  argued  a  sense  of  proprietorship  on  her  son's 
part. 

They  continued  this  intimate  talk  during  the 
dinner.  Elbert  took  her  down  and  placed  her 
near  him.  There  were  a  couple  of  elderly  ladies, 
sisters  of  Mr.  Harvey,  who  sat  also  at  table  in  a 
shadowy  way,  and  Rose  divined  in  a  flash  of  im 
aginative  intelligence  how  they  subordinated 
'  themselves  because  they  were  dependent. 
"Would  I  grow  like  that  as  I  grew  old?"  was  her 
thought. 

At  the  table  she  felt  it  her  duty  to  rouse  her 
self  to  talk,  and  she  took  part  in  the  jolly  patter 
between  Elbert  and  his  mother.  Their  camara 
derie  was  very  charming  —  so  charming  one 
almost  forgot  the  irreverence  expressed  by  his 
use  of  "  Caroline." 

After  dinner  Mrs.  Emma  Seymour  Gallup, 
whom  Rose  had  met  two  or  three  times  but  who 
always  demanded  a  new  introduction,  came 
whisking  in  on  her  way  to  some  party.  She 
had  everything  in  decidedly  the  latest  crimp. 
Her  sleeves  did  not  fit ;  her  hips  seemed  enor 
mous;  her  bonnet  seemed  split  on  the  middle 
of  her  head,  and  was  symmetrically  decked  with 
bows  of  ribbon  and  glitter  and  glimmer.  Her 
real  proportions  were  only  to  be  divined  at  the 
waist,  all  else  was  fibre-cloth  and  conjecture. 

Her  eyes  were  bright  and  her  face  cold  and 

355 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

imperious.  She  had  once  before  chilled  Rose 
with  a  cold  nod  and  insulting  shift  of  shoulder. 
She  was  plainly  surprised  to  see  Rose  in  the 
bosom  of  this  family,  and  she  seized  the  only 
plausible  explanation  with  instant  readiness  and 
smiled  a  beautiful  smile,  and  Rose  could  not 
help  seeing  that  she  had  a  very  charming  face 
after  all. 

"Ah  !  How  do  you  do,  Miss  Butcher  !  I  am 
very  glad  to  see  you  again  !  "  ^ 

"Thank  you,"  Rose  replied  simply. 

"You're  quite  well — but  then  I  know 
you  're  well,"  Mrs.  Gallup  went  on,  assuming 
still  greater  knowledge  of  her. 

"Did  you  see  the  storm  ?  Was  n't  it  dread 
ful!  I  saw  it  all  quite  securely  from  Mrs. 
Frost's  window.  How  cosy  you  all  look.  I  wish 
I  could  stay,  but  I  just  dropped  in  to  ask  you  to 
take  a  seat  in  my  box  on  Saturday  night.  Bring 
Miss  Butcher — Mr.  Gallup  will  be  delighted  to 
meet  her." 

All  that  she  said,  and  more  that  she  implied 
enmeshed  Rose  like  folds  of  an  invisible  intan 
gible  net. 

Mrs.  Harvey  calmly  accepted,  but  Rose  ex 
claimed:  "O,you  're  very  kind  but  I  am  going 
home  on  Saturday  morning!" 

"How  sad!  I  should  have  liked  to  have  you 
.come." 

After  she  was  gone  Rose  sprang  to  her  feet. 

356 


A  STORM  AND  A  HELMSMAN 

"  I  must  go  now,"  she  said  and  there  was  a  note 
in  her  voice  which  Mrs.  Harvey  knew  meant 
inflexible  decision. 

As  they  went  upstairs  Rose  was  filled  with 
dread  of  some  further  complication,  but  Mrs. 
Harvey  only  said: 

"I  love  you,  my  child.  I  wish  you  were 
going  to  stay  here  always." 

She  left  the  way  open  for  confidences,  but 
Rose  was  in  a  panic  to  get  away  and  kept  rigid 
silence. 

In  the  carriage  she  contrived  to  convey  to 
Elbert  her  desire  to  be  left  alone  and  so  he 
kept  back  the  words  of  love  which  were  bub 
bling  in  his  good  frank  soul.  He  was  saddened 
by  it  but  not  made  hopeless.  It  would  have 
been  a  beautiful  close  to  a  dramatic  day  could 
he  have  kissed  her  lips  and  presented  her  to  his 
mother  as  his  promised  wife  —  but  it  was  impos 
sible  for  even  his  volatile  nature  to  break  into 
her  somber,  almost  sullen,  silence;  and  when  he 
said  "Good  night,  Rose!"  with  tender  sweetness 
she  replied  curtly, "Good  night!"  and  fled. 

She  hurried  past  Mary  to  her  own  room  and 
lay  for  hours  on  her  bed,  without  undressing, 
listening  to  the  howl  of  the  wind,  the  grind  of 
cars  and  the  distant  boom  of  the  breakers. 
There  was  a  storm  in  her  heart  also. 
*  She  thought  of  that  lovely  and  gentle  home, 
of  the  power  wealth  would  give  her,  of  the 

357 


ROSE  OF  DUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

journeys  into  the  world,  of  trips  to  Europe,  to 
the  ocean,  to  Boston  and  New  York  and  London. 
It  could  give  her  a  life  of  ease,  of  power,  of 
grace  and  charm.  O,  how  beautiful  it  all  was, 
but 

To  win  it  she  had  to  cut  off  her  old  father. 
He  never  could  fit  in  with  these  people.  She 
thought  of  his  meeting  with  the  Harveys  with  a 
shudder.  Then,  too,  she  would  need  to  give  up 
her  own  striving  toward  independence,  for  it 
was  plain  these  people  would  not  hear  to  her 
continued  effort.  Even  if  they  consented,  she 
would  be  meshed  in  a  thousand  other  duties. 

And  then  she  thought  of  Mason  toiling  at  his 
desk  down  there  in  the  heart  of  the  terrible 
town,  and  the  look  on  his  face  grew  less  and  less 
imperious  and  more  wistful  and  pleading.  This 
day  she  had  caught  a  new  meaning  from  his 
eyes — it  was  as  if  he  needed  her;  it  seemed  ab 
surd,  and  she  blushed  to  think  it,  but  so  it 
seemed.  That  last  look  on  his  face  was  the  look 
of  a  lonely  man. 

His  words  came  to  her  again  and  again: 
"Hitherto  I  have  drifted — henceforth  I  will  sail!" 

And  she  pushed  away  the  splendid  picture  of 
a  life  of  ease  and  reached  out  for  comradeship 
with  a  man  of  toil,  of  dreams  and  hidden 
powers. 


358 


CHAPTER   XXIV 

MASON  TAKES  A  VACATION 

As  Mason  walked  away  from  the  lake  that 
terrible  day  it  seemed  as  if  he  had  ceased  to 
drift.  The  spirit  of  that  grim  helmsman  appeared 
to  have  entered  into  him.  Life  was  short  and 
pleasures  few.  For  fifteen  years  he  had  planned 
important  things  to  do,  but  had  never  done 
them — feeling  all  the  time  the  power  to  write 
latent  within  him,  yet  lacking  stimulus.  From 
the  very  first  this  girl  had  roused  him  unaccount 
ably.  Her  sympathy,  her  imaginative  faculty 
as  well  as  her  beauty,  had  come  to  seem  the 
qualities  which  he  most  needed. 

Could  he  have  gone  to  his  own  fireside  at 
once,  the  determining  letter  would  have  been 
written  that  night,  but  the  routine  of  the  office, 
the  chaff  of  his  companions,  took  away  his  heroic 
mood,  and  when  he  entered  a  car  at  twelve 
o'clock  he  slouched  in  his  seat  like  a  tired  man, 
and  the  muscles  of  his  face  fell  slack  and  he 
looked  like  a  hopeless  man. 

After  Rose  went  home  he  seemed  to  Sanborn 
to  be  more  impassible  than  ever.  As  for  Mason 

359 


ROSE  OF   DUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

himself,  it  seemed  as  if  some  saving  incentive 
had  gone  out  of  his  life — some  redeeming  grace. 
He  had  grown  into  the  habit  of  dropping  in  at 
Isabel's  once  a  week,  and  Isabel  had  taken  care 
that  Rose  should  be  often  there  on  the  same 
evening;  and  so  without  giving  much  thought  to 
it  he  had  come  to  accept  these  evenings  as  the 
compensating  pleasures  of  his  sombre  life. 

It  was  such  a  delight  to  come  up  out  of  the 
vicious  pitiless  grind  of  his  newspaper  day  and 
sit  there  before  the  fire,  with  the  face  of  a  radiant 
girl  to  smile  upon  him.  Her  voice,  with  its  curi 
ously  penetrating  yet  musical  quality,  stirred  him 
to  new  thoughts,  and  often  he  went  home  at  ten 
or  eleven  and  wrote  with  a  feeling  of  exultant 
power  upon  his  book.  After  she  went  home  he 
wrote  no  more;  he  smoked  and  pondered. 
When  he  called  upon  Isabel  and  Sanborn  he 
continued  to  smoke  and  to  ponder. 

He  had  not  abandoned  his  allegory  in  talking 
with  Sanborn,  and  Sanborn  and  Isabel  together 
could  not  get  at  his  real  feeling  for  Rose. 

Sanborn  asked  one  day  plumply : 

"  Mason,  why  do  n't  you  marry  the  coolly 
girl,  and  begin  to  live  ?  " 

"  It  would  be  taking  a  mean  advantage  of 
her.  She 's  going  to  be  famous  one  of  these 
days,  and  then  I  should  be  in  the  way." 

"  Nonsense  !  " 

"Besides,  she  probably  would  not  marry 
360 


MASON  TAKES  A  VACATION 

me;  and  if  she  would,  I   don't  think  I  could 
keep  up  the  pose." 

"  What  pose  ?  " 

"Of  husband." 

"  Is  that  a  pose  ?  "     Sanborn  smiled. 

"It  would  be  for  me,"  Mason  said,  rather 
shortly.  He  was  thinking  once  more  of  the 
letter  he  had  promised  to  write  to  Rose,  but 
which  he  had  never  found  himself  capable  of 
finishing. 

He  put  it  in  his  pocket  when  he  went  up  in 
July  to  spend  a  week  at  the  Herrick  cottage  at 
Oconomowoc.  Isabel  and  Sanborn  were  mar 
ried  just  before  leaving  the  city. 

Sanborn  said  he  had  the  judge  come  in  to 
give  him  legal  power  to  compel  Isabel  to  do  his 
cooking  for  him,  and  Isabel  replied  that  her 
main  reason  was  to  secure  a  legal  claim  on 
Sanborn's  practice. 

The  wedding  had  been  very  quiet.  Society 
reporters  (who  did  not  see  it)  called  it  "an 
unique  affair."  But  Mason,  who  did  see  it,  said  it 
was  a  very  simple  process,  so  simple  it  seemed 
one  ought  to  be  able  to  go  through  it  oneself. 
To  which  Sanborn  replied  :  "Quite  right.  Try 
it!" 

They  had  a  little  cottage  on  the  bank  of  the 

lake,  and  Sanborn  came  up  on  Saturdays  with 

the  rest  of  the  madly  busy  men  who  rest  over 

Sunday  and  over-work   the   rest   of  the  week. 

361 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

Mason  had  been  with  them  a  week,  and,  though 
he  gave  no  sign,  he  was  nearing  a  crisis  in  his 
life.  He  had  gone  to  the  point  of  finishing  his 
letter  to  Rose — it  was  lying  at  that  moment  in  his 
valise  waiting  to  be  posted — but  it  was  a  long 
way  from  being  over  with.  It  was  a  tremendous 
moment  for  him.  As  he  approached  the  decid 
ing  moment  the  deed  grew  improbable,  im 
possible.  It  was  a  very  beautiful  life  there  on 
the  lake,  with  nothing  to  do  but  smoke  and 
dream,  but  one  evening  he  had  the  impulse  to 
ask  Isabel's  advice,  and  after  dinner  he  courte 
ously  invited  her  to  sail  with  him. 

There  was  some  joking  by  Sanborn  about  the 
impropriety  of  such  a  thing  on  Isabel's  part, 
and  many  offers  to  man  the  boat,  which,  Mason 
said,  sprang  from  jealousy.  "  I  consider  I  am 
doing  you  people  a  kindness  in  not  letting  you 
bore  each  other  into  black  hatred."  It  ended 
in  the  two  friends  drifting  away  over  the  lake, 
while  Sanborn  called  after  them  threats  of  war 
if  they  were  not  at  the  wharf  at  nine  —  sharp! 

They  talked  commonplaces  for  a  time,  while 
the  sky  flushed  and  faded  and  the  lake  grad 
ually  cleared  of  its  fisher  boats.  Slowly  the 
colors  grew  tender  and  a  subtle,  impalpable 
mist  rose  from  the  water,  through  which  the 
boat  drifted  before  an  imperceptible  breeze. 

The  two  sailors  lay  at  ease,  Mason  at  the 
rudder.  The  sail  stood  up  light  and  airy  and 
362 


MASON   TAKES  A  VACATION 

soundless  as  a  butterfly's  wing.  It  pointed  at 
the  sparse  stars  as  if  with  warning  finger. 

The  hour  and  the  place  were  favorable  to 
confidences.  As  the  dusk  deepened,  a  boat-load 
of  young  people  put  off  into  the  lake,  singing 
some  wailing  sweet  song.  They  were  far 
enough  away  to  be  unobtrusively  impersonal. 
A  plover  was  faintly  calling  from  the  sedgy 
shore  on  the  other  side. 

"  One  should  be  forever  young,"  said  Mason 
broodingly. 

Isabel  said:  "Once  I  heard  a  cow  low,  and 
a  robin  laugh,  while  a  cricket  chirped  in  the 
grass.  Why  should  they  have  moved  me  so  ?" 

Mason  mused  a  moment.  "The  cow  was 
maternity  pleading  for  its  suckling  ;  the  robin's 
laugh  suggested  a  thousand  springtimes,  and 
the  cricket  prophesied  the  coming  of  frost  and 
age.  Love  and  loss  are  in  the  wail  of  yonder 
song,  the  loneliness  of  age  in  yonder  piping 
bird,  and  the  infinite  and  all-absorbing  men 
struum  of  death  in  the  growing  dusk." 

"  And  the  light  of  man's  optimism  in  the 
piercing  out  of  the  stars." 

"It  may  be  so,"  he  replied  uncertainly. 

They  drifted  on  in  silence.  There  was  a 
faint  ripple  at  the  prow  and  that  was  all.  At 
last  Mason  roused  himself  to  say  his  word. 

"  All  these  intangible  essences  and  powers 
are  no  apparent  reason  why  I  should  do  so  fool- 

363 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  CCOLLY 

ish  a  thing — but  they  have  influenced  me.  To 
day  I  wrote  to  our  coolly  girl — I  hope  to  say  my 
coolly  girl." 

Isabel  caught  her  breath: 

"Warren,  did  you?  I'm  very  glad.  If  I 
could  reach  you  I  'd  shake  your  hand." 

"  I  do  n't  rejoice.  This  thing  which  boys 
and  girls  find  easy  I  find  each  year  more  diffi 
cult,  quite  equal  to  the  revolution  of  the  earth — 
perhaps  the  girl  will  save  me  from  myself." 

"  She'll  save  you  for  yourself,  and  you  '11  be 
happy." 

"  It  is  impossible  to  say,"  he  said  sombrely. 
"  I  have  warned  her  fairly.  Once  I  should  not 
have  warned  the  woman  of  my  choice.  Am  I 
gaining  in  humanity  or  losing  ?  Please  lower 
your  head,  I  am  going  to  tack." 

The  boat  swung  about  like  a  sleeping  gull, 
and  the  sail  slowly  filled,  and  the  ripple  at  the 
prow  began  again. 

After  a  little  Mason  went  on  in  a  calm,  even 
voice: 

"The  world  to  me  is  not  well  governed  and 
I  hesitate  about  marriage,  for  it  has  the  effect,  in 
most  cases,  of  perpetuating  the  human  species, 
which  is  not  as  yet  a  noble  business.  I  am 
torn  by  two  minds.  I  do  n't  appear  to  be  torn 
by  even  one  mind,  but  I  am.  I  am  convinced 
that  Rose  has  imagination,  which  is  in  my  eyes 
the  chief  thing  in  a  wife.  It  enables  her  to 

364 


MASON  TAKES  A  VACATION 

idealize  me" — there  was  a  touch  of  his  usual 
humor  in  that — "  and  fills  me  with  alleged 
desire  to  possess  her,  but  it  is  sad  business  for 
her,  Isabel.  When  I  think  of  her  I  am  of  the 
stature  of  a  thief,  crouching  for  concealment." 

The  two  in  the  boat  were  no  longer  young. 
They  had  never  been  lovers,  but  they  seemed  to 
understand  each  other  like  man  and  wife. 

"I  am  old  in  knowledge  of  the  world — my 
life  has  ground  away  any  charm  I  might  have 
once  possessed.  For  her  sake  I  hope  she  will 
refuse." 

She  perceived  he  was  at  the  end  of  his  con 
fidence,  and  she  began  speaking.  "  I  promised 
you  a  story  once,"  she  began,  "  and  I  'm  going 
to  tell  it  now,  and  then  we  '11  return  to  Rose." 

She  spoke  in  a  low  voice,  with  a  little  catch 
ing  of  the  breath  peculiar  to  her  when  deeply 
moved.  It  made  her  voice  pulse  out  like  the 
flow  of  heavy  wine.  She  faced  him  in  the 
shadow,  but  he  knew  she  was  not  looking  at  him 
at  all.  Just  how  she  began  he  did  n't  quite 
hear  —  perhaps  she  was  a  little  incoherent. 

"  O  those  days  when  I  was  seventeen  !  "  she 
went  on.  "  Everything  was  magical.  Every 
moonlit  night  thrilled  me  with  its  possibilities. 
I  remember  how  the  boys  used  to  serenade  me, 
and  then — I  was  a  mediaeval  maiden  at  my 
barred  window,  and  they  were  disguised  knights 
seeking  me  in  strange  lands  by  their  songs. 

365 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

"  You  know  what  I  mean.  I  tingled  with 
the  immense  joy  of  it !  They  sang  there  in  the 
moonlight,  and  I  tiptoed  to  the  window  and 
peeped  out  and  listened  and  listened  with 
pictures  and  pictures  tumbling  in  and  out  of  my 
head. 

"Of  course  is  was  only  the  inherited  feminine 
rising  up  in  me,  as  you  would  say  —  but  it  was 
beautiful.  It  just  glorified  that  village  street, 
making  it  the  narrow  way  in  a  Spanish  city." 

There  was  silence  again.  Mason  softly  said  : 
"  Bend  your  head  once  more." 

When  the  boat  swung  around  and  the  faint 
moon  and  the  lights  of  the  town  shifted,  Isabel 
went  on. 

"One  of  the  boys  who  came  on  those  mid 
night  serenadings  became  my  hero — remember, 
I  was  only  seventeen  and  he  was  twenty !  We 
used  to  meet  on  the  street — and  oh!  how  it 
shook  me.  My  heart  fluttered  so  I  could  not 
speak,  and  at  first  I  had  to  run  past  him.  After 
a  time  I  got  composed  enough  to  speak  to 
him"— 

Her  voice  choked  with  remembered  passion, 
but  after  a  little  pause  she  went  on : 

"All  this,  I  know  as  well  as  you,  is  absurd  " — 

"It  is  very  beautiful,"  he  said.     "  Go  on  !  " 

"  He  was  tall  and  straight,  I  remember,  with 
brown  hair.  He  was  a  workman  of  some  kind. 
I  know  he  used  to  show  me  his  powerful  hands 
366 


MASON  TAKES  A  VACATION 

and  say  he  had  tried  to  get  the  grime  from  them. 
They  were  splendid,  heroic  hands  to  me.  I 
would  have  kissed  them  if  I  dared.  It  was  all 
incredible  folly,  but  I  thought  I  was  loving  be 
neath  my  station,  for  I  was  a  little  grandee  in 
the  town.  It  pleased  me  to  think  I  was  stooping 
—  defying  the  laws  of  my  house.  He  never 
tried  to  see  me  at  home — he  was  good  and 
clean  —  I  can  see  that  now,  for  I  remember  just 
how  his  frank,  clear  eyes  looked  at  me.  He 
did  n't  talk  much,  he  seemed  content  to  just  look 
at  me." 

"  Well,  that  went  on  for  weeks.  He  used  to 
follow  me  to  church,  as  the  boys  do  in  country 
towns,  but  I  used  to  go  to  different  places  just 
to  see  if  he  would  find  out  and  be  there  to  meet 
me  at  the  door.  He  never  offered  to  speak  to 
me  or  take  my  arm,  but  he  stood  to  see  me  go 
by.  Do  you  know,  if  I  go  into  a  country  church 
today,  that  scent  of  wilted  flowers  and  linen  and 
mingled  perfumes  almost  makes  me  weep  ?  " 

"  I  understand." 

Her  voice  was  lower  when  she  resumed. 
"  Well,  then  the  dreadful,  the  incredible  hap 
pened.  He  did  not  meet  me  any  more,  and  just 
when  I  was  wild  with  rage  and  humiliation 
came  the  news  of  his  illness  —  and  then  I  suf 
fered.  O  God  !  how  I  suffered  !  I  couldn't 
inquire  about  him  —  I  could  n't  see  him.  I  had 
kept  my  secret  so  well  that  no  one  dreamed  of 

367 


ROSE  OF  DUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

my  loving  him  so.  The  girls  thought  that  he 
followed  me  and  that  I  despised  him,  and  when 
they  jested  about  him  I  had  to  reply  while  my 
heart  was  being  torn  out  of  me.  I  spent  hours 
in  my  room  writhing,  walking  up  and  down, 
cursing  in  a  girl's  way  myself  and  God  —  I  was 
insane  with  it  all." 

She  drew  a  long  breath  but  it  did  not  relieve 
her.  Her  voice  was  as  tense  as  before  when  she 
spoke  again.  The  helmsman  leaned  to  listen, 
for  he  could  hardly  hear. 

"  Then  one  day  he  died — O  that  awful  day  ! 
I  sat  in  my  room  with  the  curtains  down.  I 
could  n't  endure  the  sunlight.  I  pretended  to 
be  sick.  I  was  numb  with  agony  and  yet  I 
could  do  nothing.  I  could  n't  even  send  a  rose 
to  lay  on  his  coffin.  I  could  n't  even  speak  his 
name.  I  could  only  lie  there  like  a  prisoner 
gagged  and  on  the  rack — to  suffer — suffer  !  " 

The  shadow  of  the  sail  covered  the  woman 
like  a  mantle.  It  was  as  if  the  man  listening 
had  turned  away  his  face  from  her  sacred  pas 
sion.  She  was  more  composed  when  she  spoke 
again: 

"  Well,  it  wore  itself  out  after  a  time.  I  got 
hungry  and  ate  once  more,  though  I  did  not  sup 
pose  I  ever  should.  I  came  down  to  the  family 
a  week  later,  a  puzzle  to  them.  They  never 
thought  to  connect  my  illness  with  the  death  of 
an  obscure  machinist,  and  then  in  the  same  way 
368 


MASON  TAKES  A  VACATION 

I  crept  gradually  back  into  society — back  into 
the  busy  life  of  a  popular  young  girl.  But  there 
was  one  place  where  no  one  ever  entered.  I 
never  told  any  one  of  this  before.  I  tried  to  tell 
Dr.  Sanborn  about  it  once,  but  I  felt  he  might 
not  understand  ;  I  tell  you  because — because 
you  can  understand  and  because  you  may  be  in 
fluenced  by  it  and  understand  your  wife  when 
she  comes  to  you.  These  days  come  to  many 
women  at  seventeen  and,  though  we  can  't  spare 
them  out  of  our  lives,  it  does  n't  mean  disloy 
alty  to  our  present  ideals.  I  think  you  under 
stand?" 

"  Very  well  indeed,"  he  said.  "  I  have  such 
memories  myself." 

"  Then  I  resolved  to  be  a  physician.  I  felt 
that  he  would  not  have  died  if  he  had  been 
treated  properly  ;  the  connection  was  obscure 
but  powerful  enough  to  consecrate  me  to  the 
healing  profession.  Then  I  met  Dr.  Sanborn. 
I  love  him  and  I  couldn't  live  without  him, 
but  there  is  that  figure  back  there — to  have  him 
and  all  that  he  means  go  out  of  my  life  would 
take  part  of  my  heart  away."  Her  voice  had 
appeal  in  it. 

"You  understand  me?  It  was  all  clean  and 
innocent,  but  it  was  my  first  passion  and  I  can 't 
spare  it.  Rose  may  have  such  a  memory.  It  has 
nothing  to  do  with  today,  with  her  present 
ideals.  It  is  not  disloyalty — it  is — " 

369 


ROSE  OF   BUTCHER'S   COOLLY 

"  The  love  of  love,"  said  Mason.  "  I  thank 
you  for  your  trust  in  me.  Rose  is  what  she  is, 
not  what  she  has  been."  And  then  in  perfect 
stillness  the  boat  swung  around  and  drifted  to 
ward  the  shore,  where  a  ruby  lantern  was  swing 
ing.  Isabel  turned  and  her  voice  was  tremulous 
with  earnestness. 

"  Warren,  Rose  loves  you — not  as  she  loved 
when  a  girl,  but  as  a  woman  loves.  I  think  I  un 
derstand  your  hesitancy — and  I  say  you  are 
wrong.  You  need  her  and  you  will  do  her  good. 
You  will  develop  her." 

"  She  will  suffer  through  me." 

"  That  is  a  part  of  development." 

The  boat  was  nearing  the  wharf  and  San- 
born's  hearty  voice  came  from  the  shore: 

"  See  here  !  Is  n't  it  pretty  late  for  a  pair  of 
rheumatic  old  folks  to  be  out  sailing?  It 's  9:30 
o'clock." 

"The  breeze  failed  us,"  Isabel  answered,  as 
Mason  took  her  hand  to  help  her  ashore. 

"  And  the  night  was  so  beautiful,"  said  Ma 
son.  Before  she  loosed  his  hand  Isabel  shook 
it  hard  and  now  Mason  understood.  He  mailed 
the  letter  that  night,  and  Rose  held  his  future  in 
her  hand. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

ROSE   RECEIVES  A  LETTER 

Rose  went  directly  from  that  storm  to  the 
repose  and  apparent  peace  of  the  country,  and 
it  helped  her  to  make  a  great  discovery.  She 
found  every  familiar  thing  had  taken  on  a  pecu 
liar  value — a  literary  and  artistic  value.  It  was 
all  so  reposeful,  so  secure.  A  red  barn  set 
against  a  gray-green  wooded  hillside  was  no 
longer  commonplace.  "How  pretty!"  she 
thought ;  "  I  never  noticed  that  before." 

A  little  girl  wrapped  in  a  shawl  was  watching 
cattle  in  the  field;  a  dog  sat  near,  his  back  to  the 
misty  drizzle.  Rose  saw  it  and  put  herself  in 
the  place  of  that  child,  chilled  and  blue  of  hand, 
with  unfallen  tears  upon  her  cheeks. 

A  crow  flying  by  with  ringing,  rough  cry  made 
her  blood  leap.  Some  cattle  streamed  up  a  lane 
and  over  a  hill;  their  legs  moving  invisibly  gave 
them  a  gliding  motion  like  a  vast  centipede. 
Some  mysterious  charm  seemed  imparted  to 
everything  she  saw,  and,  as  the  familiar  lines  of 
the  hills  began  to  loom  against  the  sky,  she  be 
came  intolerably  eager  to  see  her  father  and 


ROSE   OF   BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

the  farm.  She  hoped  it  would  be  a  sunny  day, 
but  it  was  raining  heavily  when  she  got  out  at 
the  station. 

He  was  there,  the  dear,  sweet,  old  face  smiling, 
almost  tearful.  He  had  an  umbrella  and  could  n't 
return  her  hug  ;  but  he  put  his  arm  about  her 
and  hurried  her  to  the  carriage,  and  in  a  few 
moments  they  were  spattering  up  the  familiar 
road. 

Instantly  it  seemed  as  if  she  had  never  been 
away.  She  was  a  little  girl  again  ;  the  horses 
shook  their  heads,  impatient  at  the  rain  ;  the 
pools  in  the  road  were  green  as  liquid  emerald, 
and  were  dimpled  by  the  pelting  drops.  The 
wheels  flung  segments  of  mud  into  the  air,  but 
the  horses  drove  ahead  sullenly,  almost  desper 
ately,  unmindful  of  the  splash  and  splatter  of 
mud  and  water. 

Rose  took  keen  delight  in  it  all.  She  had 
been  shut  away  from  nature  so  long,  it  seemed 
good  to  get  back  into  even  the  stern  mood  of  a 
May  storm.  The  great,  reeling  masses  of  gray 
cloud  delighted  her,  and  the  ringing  cry  of  frogs 
seemed  delicious  orchestration.  Everything 
was  fresh,  clean,  almost  harsh.  How  arid  and 
artificial  the  city  life  seemed  in  the  freshness  of 
green  fields! 

It  was  a  pleasure  to  return  to  the  barnyard, 
to  get  back  into  the  kitchen  where  her  aunt  was 
phlegmatically  working  away  at  supper-getting. 

372 


ROSE   RECEIVES  A  LETTER 

She  wiped  her  hands  on  her  apron,  and  said 
"How-de-do!"  as  if  Rose  were  a  neighbor  just 
dropping  in  for  a  call. 

The  life  all  seemed  heroically  dull,  but  the 
coolness,  repose  and  sanity  of  nature  was  ele 
mental,  as  if  she  had  risen  into  the  rainy  sky  or 
sunk  into  the  waters  of  the  ocean.  It  was 
deathly  still  at  times.  And  dark,  dark  and  illim 
itable  and  freshly  sweet  the  night  shut  down  over 
the  valley. 

She  went  to  sleep  with  the  soft  roar  of  the 
falling  rain  near  her  window  ;  and  the  faint 
puffing  in  of  the  breeze  brought  to  her  the  de 
licious  smell  of  the  rain-washed  leaves,  the  acrid, 
pungent  odor  of  poplars,  the  sweet  smell  of 
maples,  the  fragrance  of  rich  loam — she  knew 
them  all. 

By  force  of  contrast  she  thought  of  Mason 
and  his  life  in  the  city.  The  roar  of  traffic;  the 
thunder  of  great  presses ;  the  nights  at  the 
opera  or  the  theater,  all  had  enormous  weight 
and  value  to  her,  but  how  remote  it  all  was  !  In 
the  country  the  city  seemed  unreal ;  in  the  city 
the  country  seemed  impossible. 

She  awoke  at  the  cry  of  a  jay  in  the  maples, 
and  then  as  she  listened  she  heard  a  mourning- 
dove  sob  from  the  distance.  Robins  were  laugh 
ing  merrily,  an  oriole  whistled  once  and  flew 
away,  and  hark  !  yes,  a  thrush  was  singing,  sit 
ting  high  in  some  tree-top,  she  knew. 

373 


ROSE   OF   BUTCHER'S   COOLLY 

The  rain  was  over ;  the  valley  was  flooded 
with  sunshine.  O,  so  beautiful!  —  flooded  with 
light  like  the  love  of  God.  She  sprang  up  with 
joyous  energy.  Life's  problem  was  not  without 
solution  if  she  could  live — both  city  and  coun 
try,  too. 

She  felt  her  joy  of  the  country  doubled  by 
her  winter  in  the  city — this  day  was  made  mar 
velous  by  that  storm  on  the  lake. 

Rhymes  grew  in  her  mind  upon  subjects 
hitherto  untouched  by  her  literary  perception. 
Things  she  had  known  all  her  life,  familiar  plants, 
flowers,  trees,  etc.,  seemed  touched  all  at  once 
by  supernatural  radiance. 

The  clouds  on  the  hills,  the  buzz  of  bees  in 
the  clover,  the  sabre  swing  of  poplar  trees  against 
the  sky,  moved  her  to  song,  and  she  wrote  daily 
with  marvelous  ease.  She  flung  herself  prone 
on  the  bank  by  the  spring,  and  strove  to  mix 
and  be  one  with  the  wind  and  the  trees.  She 
thought  of  her  childish  crooning  over  Carl  that 
day  his  head  lay  in  her  lap,  and  its  significance 
came  to  her  and  voiced  itself  in  music. 

She  traced  out  every  path  where  her  feet  had 
trod  as  a  child,  and  the  infinite  significance  and 
terror  and  high  beauty  of  life  and  death  came 
upon  her.  She  seemed  to  summon  up  and 
analyze  all  her  past,  as  if  she  were  about  to  end 
one  life  and  begin  another.  These  wonderful 
moods  and  memories  in  some  unaccountable 

374 


ROSE   RECEIVES  A   LETTER 

way  co-ordinated  themselves  in  lines  of  verse, 
and  the  restless,  vigorous  heart  of  the  girl  felt 
the  splendid  peace  which  comes  when  the  artist 
finds  at  last  that  art  which  is  verily  his. 

The  body  of  her  verse  grew,  and  she  longed 
for  Mason's  opinion  upon  it,  and  yet  she  feared 
to  send  it,  it  seemed  so  different  from  other 
verse.  At  times  she  felt  its  passionate  and 
imaginative  quality,  and  made  up  selections  to 
send  him,  but  ended  always  by  putting  them 
away  again. 

She  had  his  picture  in  her  room,  and  some 
times  she  sat  down  to  write  with  his  sadly 
inscrutable  face  before  her.  She  could  see  in  it 
(as  she  studied  it  here  in  her  home)  the  lines 
of  varied  and  restless  thought  which  make 
up  the  face  of  a  man  who  largely  comprehends 
American  civilization  in  the  light  of  experience. 

That  face  represented  to  her  the  highest  type 
of  manhood,  and  something  more.  It  was  re- 
.  fined  and  infinitely  subtle  compared  with  the 
simple,  almost  ox-like  faces  of  the  men  about 
her.  It  was  sad,  too,  as  her  father's  face  in  re 
pose  was  sad,  but  the  sadness  was  different. 
There  was  patient,  resigned  sadness  in  her  father's 
eyes  and  lips ;  in  Mason's,  bitter,  rebellious, 
perhaps  despairing  sadness,  and  something  else, 
too — youth  taking  hold  on  the  hopelessness  of 
the  whole  world. 

And  yet  she  knew  how  sweetly  those  lips  could 

375 


ROSE  OF  DUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

smile,  and  she  had  felt  the  gentleness  and  purity 
hid  in  those  eyes.  He  looked  at  her  as  no  other 
man  looked,  without  boldness,  without  uncer 
tainty,  clean,  manly  and  just ;  and  still  there 
were  those  cynical  lines  about  the  lips ;  not 
deep,  but  still  perceptible. 

She  thought  less  of  his  fine,  erect  bearing, 
and  yet  she  liked  to  see  him  walking  down  the 
street.  He  had  physical  power  and  dignity,  but 
his  face  and  eyes  were  etched  in  minutest  detail 
upon  her  brain.  The  life  companionship  of  such 
a  man  came  to  seem  more  and  more  impossible 
for  her  to  attain  to.  The  common  little  details 
of  her  life  seemed  to  lower  her.  She  fell  back 
into  inelegant  habits  and  careless  speech,  and 
every  time  she  realized  it,  it  put  Mason  far  off 
and  far  above  her.  Her  verse  lost  its  brilliancy, 
its  buoyancy,  and  became  dark  and  bitter  at 
times. 

Every  night  she  wondered  if  she  might  not 
hear  from  him.  He  had  promised  to  write,  and 
he  had  hinted  at  something  very  important.  She 
knew  that  she  had  no  definite  claim  upon  him, 
and  yet  her  last  letter  had  contained  one  ques 
tion,  not  of  any  importance  only  as  it  gave  him 
a  chance  to  reply  if  he  felt  like  it. 

Then  the  question  came  :  "  What  of  my  win 
ter  in  the  city  ?  What  has  it  done  for  me  ?  Is 
not  life  as  insoluble  as  ever — success  as  far 
away  as  ever  ?  " 

376 


ROSE   RECEIVES  A   LETTER 

Could  she  live  here  in  the  country  any  easier 
because  of  her  stay  there  ;  did  it  not,  in  fact, 
make  life  harder  ? 

It  was  in  thinking  about  these  things  and 
Mason's  letter,  which  did  not  come,  that  her 
new-found  rapture  in  nature  began  to  cool  down. 
She  began  to  spend  more  time  in  her  room, 
thinking  of  him,  and  wondering  what  his  atti 
tude  toward  her  really  was. 

She  had  moments  at  last  when  his  face  seemed 
cynically  smiling  at  her.  What  did  he  care  for 
an  awkward  country  girl  like  her  ?  He  pitied 
her,  that  was  all.  He  wanted  to  help  her,  and 
had  tried,  and  finding  her  dull,  had  given  her 
up  and  forgotten  her.  He  knew  scores  of  beau 
tiful  women,  actresses,  artists,  millionaires' 
daughters  ;  it  was  absurd  to  suppose  that  a  girl 
from  the  coolly  could  be  of  any  special  interest 
to  him  ;  and  to  win  his  love,  that  was  impos 
sible. 

She  had  not  the  personal  vanity  which  makes 
so  many  pretty  and  brainless  women  think 
themselves  irresistible  to  any  man,  and  a  fair 
return  for  any  man's  name  and  fame.  Her  flesh 
she  made  little  of  in  the  question. 

She  hoped  each  week  for  a  reply,  and  in  her 
letters  to  Isabel  asked  for  news  about  "  all 
friends,"  meaning  one  especially. 

Isabel  wrote,  saying  they  had  invited  Mr. 
Mason  up  to  stay  a  few  days  at  their  cottage, 

377 


ROSE   OF   BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

and  that  Elbert  Harvey  had  asked  after  her,  and 
couldn't  she  come  down? 

By  the  middle  of  July  she  had  begun  to  pass 
days  without  writing  at  all. 

When  the  letter  from  Mason  came  her  father 
brought  it  to  her  with  a  smile:  "Guess  this  is  a 
love-letter;  it's  a  big  one!" 

She  took  it  in  her  hand,  feeling  a  keen,  swift 
premonition  of  its  importance.  It  was  indeed 
a  heavy  letter — almost  a  packet. 

She  went  to  her  room  with  it  and  took  a  seat 
by  the  window,  quite  deliberately,  but  her  hands 
shook  as  she  opened  the  envelope.  Her  senses 
seemed  some  way  to  acquire  unnatural  keenness, 
like  a  scared  animal's.  She  heard  every  voice 
about  the  barnyard,  and  she  felt  the  wind  on 
her  cheek  like  a  live  thing  beating  its  slow  wings. 
The  letter  began  simply : 
"  DEAR  Miss  BUTCHER  : 

"  I  must  begin  by  asking  pardon  for  not 
writing  before,  but  as  a  matter  of  fact  I  have 
not  found  this  letter  easy  to  compose.  It  rep 
resents  a  turning  point  in  my  life,  and  contains 
an  important  decision,  and  I  have  never  been 
less  sure  of  my  judgment  than  now. 

"This  letter  may  be  considered  an  offer  of 
marriage.  It  is  well  to  say  that  now,  and  then 
all  the  things  which  come  after,  will  be  given 
their  proper  weight.  Let  me  state  the  debit  side 
•of  the  account  first,  and  if  you  feel  that  it  is  too 

378 


ROSE   RECEIVES  A   LETTER 

heavy  you  can  put  the  letter  down  and  write  me 
a  very  short  answer,  and  the  matter  will  be 
ended. 

"First,  I  say  to  you:  whoso  weds  me  weds 
sorrow.  I  do  not  promise  to  make  you  happy, 
though  I  hope  my  influence  will  not  be  always 
untoward.  I  cannot  promise  any  of  the  things 
husbands  are  supposed  to  bring.  I  cannot 
promise  a  home.  My  own  living  is  precarious, 
dependent  upon  my  daily  grind  of  newspaper 
work.  For  though  I  hope  to  achieve  a  success 
with  my  novel,  great  successes  with  novels  do 
not  mean  much  money.  I  do  not  feel  either 
that  I  shall  ever  be  free  from  money  cares  ; 
luxury  and  I  are  to  continue  strangers. 

"  I  cannot  promise  to  conform  to  your  ways, 
nor  to  bend  to  your  wishes,  though  I  will  try  to 
do  so.  I  cannot  promise  to  assume  cordial  re 
lations  with  your  relatives,  nor  accept  your 
friendships  as  binding  upon  me. 

"  I  cannot  promise  to  be  faithful  to  you  until 
death,  but  I  shall  be  faithful  so  long  as  I 
fill  the  relation  of  husband  to  you.  I  shall  not 
lead  a  double  life,  or  conceal  from  you  any 
change  in  my  regard  toward  you.  If  at  any 
time  I  find  a  woman  whom  1  feel  I  should  live 
with,  rather  than  with  you,  I  shall  tell  you  of  her 
with  perfect  frankness.  I  think  I  shall  find  you 
all-sufficient,  but  I  do  not  know.  Men  and 
women  change,  grow  weary  of  things,  of  bonds, 

379 


ROSE   OF   BUTCHER'S   COOLLY 

of  duties.  It  may  be  that  I  shall  become  and 
continue  the  most  devoted  of  husbands,  but  I 
cannot  promise  it.  Long  years  of  association 
develop  intolerable  traits  in  men  and  women 
very  often. 

"  On  the  other  hand,  let  me  say  I  exact 
nothing  from  you.  I  do  not  require  you  to  cook 
for  me,  nor  keep  house  for  me.  You  are  mis 
tress  of  yourself  ;  to  come  and  go  as  you  please, 
without  question  and  without  accounting  to  me. 
You  are  at  liberty  to  cease  your  association  with 
me  at  any  time,  and  consider  yourself  perfectly 
free  to  leave  me  whenever  any  other  man  comes 
with  power  to  make  you  happier  than  I. 

"  I  want  you  as  comrade  and  lover,  not  as 
subject  or  servant,  or  unwilling  wife.  I  do  not 
claim  any  rights  over  you  at  all.  You  can  bear 
me  children  or  not,  just  as  you  please.  You  are 
a  human  soul  like  myself,  and  I  shall  expect  you 
to  be  as  free  and  as  sovereign  as  I,  to  follow 
any  profession  or  to  do  any  work  which  pleases 
you.  It  is  but  just  to  say  that  I  have  never 
been  a  man  of  loose  habits.  No  woman  has 
any  claim  upon  me  for  deed  or  word.  I  have 
thought  at  various  times  that  I  could  marry  this 
woman  or  that  woman,  but  I  have  never  before 
made  a  proposition  of  marriage  to  any  woman. 

"  I  have  written  you  in  good,  set  terms  what 
you  may  expect  of  me.  I  am  not  a  demon 
strative  man  by  nature,  and  my  training  from 
380 


ROSE   RECEIVES  A   LETTER 

childhood  has  made  me  saving  of  words  of  en 
dearment.  My  love  for  you  must  be  taken  largely 
for  granted  after  it  is  once  stated,  for  I  regard 
the  word  Move'  as  a  jewel  not  to  be  carelessly 
tossed  from  hand  to  hand. 

"Doubtlessly  I  shall  make  a  dull  companion — 
that  I  cannot  judge  for  myself." 

The  letter  concluded  with  this  characteristic 
touch ;  she  seemed  to  hear  his  voice  as  she 
read  it : 

"  I  have  written  frankly  because  I  believed  it 
would  prejudice  you  in  my  favor.  Had  I  be 
lieved  otherwise,  doubtless  I  should  have  written 
in  terms  of  flattery  and  deceit,  for  of  such  is 
man  when  seeking  woman  in  marriage. 

"  If  you  return  the  affirmative  answer  I  shall 
be  very  happy  to  come  up  and  spend  the  rest  of 
my  vacation  at  your  father's  home  —  provided  it 
is  agreeable  to  you." 

Rose  sat  rigidly  still  in  her  chair,  her  hands 
in  her  lap,  holding  the  letter. 

It  had  come  again,  this  question  of  marriage, 
and  this  time  it  appealed  to  her  whole  nature — 
to  her  intellectual  part  as  well  as  to  her  material 
self;  uttered  this  time  by  a  voice  which  had  no 
tremor  in  it. 

How  strange  it  all  was!  How  different  from 
the  other  proposals  she  had  received  ;  appar 
ently  cold  and  legal,  yet  under  the  lines  she  felt 


ROSE   OF   BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

something  deep  and  manly  and  passionate,  be 
cause  she  was  only  a  coule  girl,  and  he  was  a 
man  of  the  great  intellectual  world  ;  a  man  who 
"molded  public  opinion"  by  the  power  of  his 
editorial  pen.  He  was  greater  than  that.  In 
his  presence  you  felt  him  to  be  a  man  of  national 
reputation  living  quietly  under  an  assumed 
name. 

There  rose  a  great  pride  in  her  heart.  He  had 
selected  her  from  among  the  women  of  the 
world  !  He  loved  her  so  much  he  had  written 
her  this  strange  letter,  which  plead  for  her  under 
its  rigid  order  of  words.  She  held  the  letter  to 
her  lips  as  if  to  get  its  secret  meaning  so  and 
then  she  dropped  it  as  if  it  were  a  husk.  No 
matter  what  it  said,  she  felt  the  spirit  of  the 
man. 

She  wrote  a  few  lines  and  sealed  them 
quickly.  Then  she  fell  into  thought  upon  the 
terms  of  his  letter.  She  hardly  comprehended 
the  significance  of  the  minor  statements,  so  filled 
was  she  with  the  one  great  fact,  he  wished  her 
to  be  his  wife  !  She  was  poor,  unknown,  and 
yet  he  had  chosen  her  ! 

There  was  something  sad  in  the  letter,  too — 
like  his  face  it  was  inscrutable,  intricate,  but 
{she  believed)  noble  in  intention.  The  freedom 
of  action  which  he  claimed  for  himself  did  not 
trouble  her,  for  she  felt  his  love  beneath  it.  His 
word  "  comrade  "  pleased  her,  too.  It  seemed  to 

382 


ROSE   RECEIVES  A   LETTER 

be  wholesome  and  sweet,  and  promised  intellec 
tual  companionship  never  before  possible  to 
her. 

O,  to  be  the  wife  of  such  a  man  !  to  have  his 
daily  help  and  presence  ;  it  was  wonderful,  it 
could  not  be  true!  Yet  there  lay  the  letter  in 
her  lap,  and  there  the  firm,  calm,  even  signature. 
She  rose  to  her  feet  and  her  heart  dilated  with 
pride,  and  her  head  was  that  of  a  newly  crowned 
princess.  Oh,  the  great  splendid  world  out  there! 

She  took  up  her  letter  suddenly  and  went 
downstairs  and  out  into  the  yard  in  search  of 
her  father.  He  was  sitting  by  the  bees,  with 
dreamy  eyes.  He  spent  a  great  deal  of  his  time 
there. 

"  Father,  I  want  you  to  hitch  Kitty  to  the 
buggy  for  me." 

"Why,  of  course.  Where  are  you  goin', 
Rose  ?  " 

"  I  'm  going  to  the  Siding  to  post  a  letter. 
O,  pappa  John  ! "  she  cried  suddenly,  putting 
her  arms  round  him,  "  I  'm  going  to  be  married." 

John  did  not  instantly  comprehend  her  pas 
sion;  he  was  slower  to  move,  but  he  said  : 

"Why,  Rosie  !    When  ?     Who  to?" 

"  To  a  man  in  Chicago,  Mr.  Warren  Mason, 
a  great  editor.  I  'm  just  writing  to  him  to 
come." 

John  began  to  feel  the  solemnity  of  the 
thought. 

383 


ROSE  OF  DUTCHER'S   COOLLY 

"Does  he  live  in  Chicago?" 

"  Yes."  She  understood  his  thought.  "But 
we  '11  come  and  see  you,  summers,  just  the  same, 
pappa  John." 

"  Well,  I  '11  take  the  letter  down." 

"  No,  I  must  take  it  myself,"  she  said,  smil 
ingly,  holding  the  letter  behind  her  like  a  child. 

There  was  something  fine  in  carrying  the 
letter  to  the  office  herself.  It  seemed  to  hasten 
it.  The  horse  was  spirited  and  carried  her  at  a 
steady  swift  trot  up  hill  and  down,  and  the  rail 
way  track  was  soon  in  sight. 

Suddenly  an  idea  seized  her ;  why  not  tele 
graph  her  answer.  They  might  suspect  him  to 
be  her  lover,  but  what  did  she  care  now?  She 
penned  this  message  : 

"Come  up  tomorrow  if  you  can,  please. 
Rose." 

But  afterward,  as  she  approached  the  office, 
she  shrank  from  handing  it  in.  It  seemed  to 
her  too  plainly  a  love  message.  She  mailed  her 
letter  and  fell  to  calculating  when  it  would 
reach  him.  He  could  not  possibly  come  till  the 
second  day,  whereas  if  she  telegraphed  he  might 
arrive  in  the  morning.  This  thought  strength 
ened  her  resolution;  going  over  to  the  window 
she  placed  the  message  firmly  before  the  oper 
ator,  who  knew  her  and  admired  her  deeply. 

"  Please  send  that  at  once,  Mr.  Bingham." 

The  operator  smiled  and  bowed,  and  when  he 

384 


ROSE   RECEIVES  A  LETTER 

read  the  message  he  looked  up  at  her  keenly, 
but  did  not  smile. 

"  Any  answer  ?"  he  asked. 

"No,  probably  not,"  she  replied.  "Will  it  go 
right  out?" 

"Immediately." 

As  she  turned  away  to  ride  home  her  soul 
took  wing.  A  marvelous  elevation  and  peace 
came  upon  her.  It  was  done.  Life  held  more 
than  promise  now,  it  contained  certainties.  Her 
chosen  one  of  Israel  was  coming  ! 


385 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

MASON   AS   A  LOVER 

The  telegram  came  to  Mason  as  he  sat  on  the 
porch  of  the  Herrick  cottage.  He  read  it,  and 
his  eyes  smiled,  but  his  feeling  was  not  one  of 
amusement.  The  significance  of  that  impulsive 
message  struck  deep,  and  his  blood  responded 
to  it  as  if  it  were  an  embrace. 

It  settled  all  doubt  in  his  mind  concerning 
her.  She  was  as  free  and  self-reliant  as  he 
thought  her,  and  the  severe  terms  of  his  pro 
posal  had  not  repelled  her,  and  yet  that  she 
loved  him  in  a  right  human  and  very  passionate 
way  did  not  seem  to  him  possible. 

He  had,  also,  other  misgivings.  He  wished 
he  had  delineated  more  fully  in  his  letter  the  neg 
ative  side  of  his  character.  "  She  is  young  and 
beautiful,"  he  thought,  "  and  will  want  to  see 
life.  She  will  value  social  affairs — I  am  done 
with  them.  She  will  want  words  of  tender  pro 
testation,  flattery  perhaps,  which  I  cannot  give. 

"  My  habits  are  fixed.  I  like  my  silent  pipe 
at  night  after  dinner.  I  shall  undoubtedly  get 
more  and  more  disinclined  to  social  duties  as 
time  goes  on. 

386 


MASON  AS  A  LOVER 

"  In  ten  years  I  shall  be  forty-eight  years  old, 
an  old  man,  when  she  is  just  in  her  splendid  June 
season.  She  will  find  the  difference  between  our 
ages  wider  than  now.  She  will  be  a  wife.  I  can 
free  her  when  she  asks  it,  but  I  cannot  give  her 
back  her  sweet,  superb  girlhood.  I  can  give  her 
perception  and  comprehension  of  the  world  and 
of  life,  but  I  cannot  make  her  young  again.  I 
may  die  after  a  few  years,  leaving  her  a  mother 
with  a  hazardous  future.  Then  she  will  be 
doubly  cursed. 

"Again,  this  marriage  may  ruin  and  interrupt 
her  career.  With  some  women  marriage,  espe 
cially  maternity,  seems  to  take  away  their  power 
as  artists,  and  to  turn  them  into  cooks  and 
nurses ;  meritorious  vocations  of  course,  but " 

All  night  long  he  alternately  mused  and 
dozed  upon  the  problem.  He  roused  up  at  early 
daylight  with  a  feeling  of  doom  upqn  him.  He 
had  made  a  mistake.  He  was  not  fitted  to  be  a 
husband — he  was  a  poor  thing,  at  best,  who  had 
not  had  energy  enough  to  get  out  of  a  groove 
nor  to  demand  adequate  pay  for  grinding  in  his 
groove.  He  lacked  "  push,"  and  had  dreamed 
away  the  best  years  of  his  life,  at  least  such  parts 
of  the  years  as  he  had  saved  from  the  merciless 
drive  of  his  paper.  He  was  pulp,  squeezed 
dry. 

He  groaned,  and  a  curse  came  upon  his  lips, 
and  his  forehead  knit  into  a  tangle  of  deep  lines. 

387 


ROSE  OF  DUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

His  paper  had  used  him.  It  had  sucked  the 
blood  of  his  heart.  The  creative  energy  of  his 
brain  had  gone  into  the  impersonal  columns  of 
the  editorial  page — to  what  end  ?  To  the  end 
that  the  Evening  Star  Publishing  Company 
should  be  rated  high  in  Bradstreet.  Had  any 
human  being  been  made  better  by  anything  he 
had  written  in  those  columns  ?  Politics  ?  Good 
God  !  he  had  sold  his  soul,  his  blood,  the  grace 
of  his  limbs,  the  suppleness  of  his  joints,  the 
bloom  of  his  enthusiasms,  to  put  this  or  that 
damned  party  into  power. 

And  now,  when  a  beautiful  young  woman, 
singing  her  way  to  fame,  had  sent  for  him,  he 
must  go  to  her,  cynical,  thin-haired,  stiff  in  joints, 
bent  in  shoulders  and  reeking  with  the  smell  of 
office  life  and,  worst  of  all,  worked  out,  his  novel 
not  yet  written,  and  his  enthusiasm  turned  to 
indifference  and  despair. 

The  problem  of  the  age  that  morning  made 
him  savage.  He  looked  out  of  the  window  at 
the  farmhouses  gleaming  in  the  early  light,  at 
the  smoke  curling  up  into  the  still  air,  at  the 
men  going  to  milk  the  cows  — 

"The  damn  fools!"  he  said  in  his  heart. 
"They  do  n't  know  enough  to  vegetate  any 
more  than  I  had  sense  to  know  I  was  becoming 
a  machine.  Rot  and  rot !  So  we  go  like  leaves 
to  the  muck-heap."  The  porter  rushed  in  and 
shook  him. 

388 


MASON  AS  A  LOVER 

"Almos'  to  Bluff  Siding,  sah." 

This  put  a  little  resolution  into  his  blood, 
and  he  dressed  rapidly,  with  little  thought  on 
anything  else.  Once  or  twice  he  looked  out  at 
the  misty  blue  hills,  cool  and  fresh  with  recent 
rains.  As  the  porter  came  to  get  his  grip  a  few 
minutes  later,  Mason  wondered  how  he  should 
meet  her,  with  a  hand-shake  or  a  kiss  ?  How 
would  she  meet  him  ? 

As  the  train  slowed  down  he  saw  her  at  the 
platform.  She  sat  in  a  carriage  waiting  for  him. 
He  had  one  flashing  thought :  "  There  sits  my 
wife!"  It  startled  him.  The  tremendous  sig 
nificance  of  that  phrase  made  his  brain  dizzy  for 
a  moment. 

She  was  dressed  trimly,  he  noticed,  as  he 
came  toward  her,  and  she  held  her  horse  firmly 
—  he  liked  her  for  that,  it  showed  self-mastery. 
As  for  him,  he  felt  more  uncertainty  of  footing 
than  ever  before  in  his  life,  and  tried  to  throw 
off  the  stoop  in  his  shoulders. 

As  he  came  forward,  she  flushed,  but  her 
steady  eyes  met  his  unwaveringly.  He  looked 
into  their  clear  obscurity  of  depth,  wherein  were 
purity  and  unworldly  womanly  ways. 

She  held  out  her  hand,  firm  and  strong,  and 
he  took  it  in  his.  Outwardly  it  was  merely  a 
friendly  greeting,  yet  something  subtler  than 
light  came  from  her  to  him.  He  did  not  speak 
for  an  instant,  then  he  said: 

389 


ROSE  OF  DUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

"  This  is  good  of  you  !  I  did  not  expect 
this  great  pleasure." 

Her  voice  trembled  as  she  said: 

"  I  wanted  to  be  the  first  to  greet  you,  and 
besides,  papa  would  n't  know  you." 

He  smiled  for  the  first  time. 

"  That 's  true.  But  it 's  very  early — quite  in 
the  small  hours." 

"  Oh,  that 's  nothing  ;  I  'm  a  farmer's  girl, 
you  know.  But  put  your  valise  in,  we  must  be 
off." 

How  strong  and  supple  she  looked!  and  how 
becoming  her  silk  waist  and  straw  hat!  She 
could  drive,  too.  Some  way  she  seemed  quite 
another  sort  of  person  here  in  her  own  land 
and  in  her  own  carriage.  She  was  so  much 
more  composed.  "  She  has  imagination,"  he 
repeated  to  himself. 

They  turned  into  the  road  before  he  spoke 
again. 

"  So  this  is  your  '  coolly '  ?" 

"  No,  this  is  our  valley.  The  coolly  is  over 
there  where  you  see  that  cloud  shadow  sliding 
down." 

He  looked  about  slowly  at  the  hills  and  fields. 

"  It 's  very  fine  ;  much  finer  than  Oconomo- 
woc  and  Geneva." 

"We  like  it     .     .     papa  and  I." 

They  were  both  talking  around  the  bush,  as 
the  saying  goes,  but  he  finally  said: 

39° 


MASON  AS  A  LOVER 

"  I  was  very  glad  to  receive  your  telegram. 
Am  I  to  take  it  as  an  affirmative  answer?  " 

She   said  with  effort : 

"  I  wanted  you  to  see  how  poor  and  humble 
we  all  are  before — before  I — " 

He  studied  her  profile.  Her  lips  quivered, 
and  a  tear  glistened  through  the  veil. 

"On  my  part,"  he  said,  "I  regretted  that  I 
did  not  further  set  forth  my  general  cussedness 
and  undesirability. —  How  well  you  drive!  "he 
said,  by  way  of  relieving  the  stress  of  the  mo 
ment. 

He  took  command  now,  and  there  were  no 
more  tender  allusions.  He  sniffed  the  smell  of 
the  grass  and  the  wayside  trees,  and  remarked 
upon  the  cattle,  and  inquired  the  names  of 
several  birds  whose  notes  reached  across  the  field. 

"Do  you  know,  I'm  no  wild  lover  of  the 
country,  and  I  don't  admire  the  country  people 
unreservedly.  There  are  exceptions,  of  course 
—  but  my  experience  with  them  has  not  been 
such  as  to  make  them  heroic  sufferers,  as  the  new 
school  of  fiction  sets  'em  forth.  They  are  squalid 
enough  and  poor  enough,  heaven  knows,  but  it 
is  the  squalor  of  piracy — they  do  as  well  as  I 
should  under  the  same  circumstances,  no 
doubt." 

Rose  looked  at  him  narrowly,  as  if  to  find 
his  real  thought.  He  stopped  abruptly  at  her 
glance. 


ROSE   OF   BUTCHER'S   COOLLY 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  for  boring  you  ;  but 
these  disagreeable  phases  of  my  character  should 
be  known  to  you.  I'm  full  of  whims  and 
notions,  you'll  find." 

She  looked  away  and  a  moment  later  said: 
"There  is  our  farm;  that  house  in  the  grove  is 
ours." 

"  Cattle  I  hate,  so  I  hope  your  father  will  not 
expect  me  to  be  interested  in  stock." 

This  was  the  first  time  he  had  mentioned  her 
father,  and  it  moved  her  unaccountably.  It 
would  be  so  dreadful  if  he  should  not  under 
stand  her  father.  His  perverse  attitude  toward 
her  and  toward  the  country  had  brought  her 
from  exalted  singleness  of  emotion  down  to  a 
complexity  of  questionings  and  forebodings. 

As  they  whirled  in  the  yard  Mason  saw  a  new 
house  of  the  ambitious  pork-pie  order,  standing 
in  a  fairly  well-kept  sward,  with  a  background 
of  barns,  corncribs,  pigsties  and  beehives.  A 
well-to-do  farmstead  of  the  more  fortunate  sort, 
and  the  thought  that  the  man  coming  out  of  the 
barn  to  meet  them  was  to  be  his  father-in-law 
struck  him  like  a  gust  of  barnyard  air.  Really 
could  it  be  that  he  had  made  this  decision? 

As  the  man  came  nearer  he  appeared  a 
strong-armed,  gentle-faced  farmer  of  sixty.  His 
eyes  were  timid,  almost  appealing.  His  throat 
was  brown  and  wrinkled  as  leather.  His  chin 
beard  was  a  faded  yellow-grey,  and  his  hands 

392 


MASON  AS  A  LOVER 

were  nobbed  and  crooked  in  the  fingers.  He 
peered  at  Mason  through  dimmed  eyes. 

"  Father,"  said  Rose,  and  her  voice  trembled 
a  little,  "  this  is  Mr.  Mason." 

John  Butcher  put  up  his  hand  heartily. 

"  How  do  you  do,  sir?"  His  timid  smile 
touched  Mason,  but  there  was  something  else  in 
the  man  which  made  him  return  the  hand-clasp. 

"I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Butcher,"  he  said, 
and  his  tone  was  so  genuine  it  brought  a  gush 
of  tears  to  the  daughter's  eyes.  Her  lover  un 
derstood  her  father  after  all.  x  -s 

"Won't  you  'light  out,  sir?"  continued  John 
with  elaborate  hospitality. 

"Well,  yes,  1  think  I  will,"  said  Mason, \n& 
Rose's  spirits  shook  off  their  cowls. 

Suddenly  she  heard  every  bird  singing,  the 
thrush  in  the  poplar  top,  the  catbirds  in  the  wil 
lows,  the  robin  on  the  lawn ;  the  sun  flooded  the 
world  with  magical  splendor.  It  was  morning 
in  the  world  and  morning  in  her  life,  and  her 
lover  was  walking  up  the  path  by  her  side.  . 

It  was  splendid  beyond  belief  to  show  him  to 
his  room,  to  bring  him  water  and  towels  and  to 
say  from  the  doorway,  with  a  smile : 

"Breakfast  is  ready!" 

The  picture  that  she  made  lingered  pleas 
antly  on  Mason's  interior  eye.  She  was  so  sup 
ple  of  form  and  so  radiant  of  color,  and  so  pal 
pitant  with  timid  joy. 

393 


ROSE   OF   BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

She  sat  alone  at  the  table  when  he  came  out. 
She  explained  as  she  showed  him  his  seat, 
"Father  and  my  aunt  had  breakfast  long  ago." 

Mrs.  Diehl  brought  the  coffee  in  and  bowed 
awkwardly  to  Mason.  The  whole  thing  seemed 
like  a  scene  in  a  play  to  him.  It  was  charming, 
all  the  same,  to  sit  alone  at  the  table  with  such 
a  girl ;  it  was  just  the  least  bit  exciting.  His 
hands  shook  a  little,  he  noticed. 

As  he  took  his  cup  of  coffee  from  her  he  said 
whimsically  : 

"I  expect  to  wake  up  soon." 

"  Does  it  seem  like  a  dream  to  you  too  ?  " 

"Well,  it  isn't  my  every-day  life,  I  must 
confess." 

To  her  he  seemed  handsomer  and  more  re 
fined  than  in  the  city.  He  seemed  simpler,  too, 
though  he  was  still  complex  enough  to  keep  her 
wondering.  The  slope  of  his  shoulders  and  the 
poise  of  his  head  were  splendid  to  her.  It  could 
not  be  possible  that  he  was  here  to  see  her  ;  to 
be  served  by  her ;  to  spend  the  days  with  her  ; 
to  be  her  husband  if  she  should  say  so. 

And  yet  she  retained  her  dignity.  She  did 
not  grow  silly  nor  hysterical  as  a  lesser  woman 
might  have  done.  She  was  tremulous  with  hap 
piness  and  wonder,  but  she  sat  before  him  mis 
tress  of  her  hands  and  voice.  Her  very  laughter 
pleased  him  ;  if  she  had  giggled — heavens,  if 
she  had  giggled  ! 

394 


MASON  AS  A  LOVER 

John  also  went  busily,  apparently  calmly, 
about  his  work.  Mason  was  pleased  at  that ;  it 
showed  astonishing  reserve  in  the  man. 

Again  that  keen,  sweet  feeling  of  companion 
ship — wifehood — came  to  Rose  as  they  walked 
out  side  by  side  into  the  parlor.  He  had  come 
to  her  ;  that  was  the  marvelous  thing  !  She  was 
doing  wifely  things  for  him  ;  it  was  all  more  in 
timate,  more  splendid  than  she  thought ! 

They  sat  down  in  the  best  room  and  faced 
each  other.  It  was  their  most  potential  moment. 
Breakfast  was  eaten  and  the  day  was  before 
them,  and  an  understanding  was  necessary. 

"  Now,  I  can  't  allow  you  to  be  hasty,"  Mason 
said.  I  '11  tell  you  what  I  think  you  had  better 
do  ;  defer  your  answer  until  two  weeks  from 
today,  when  I  shall  return  to  the  city.  That 
will  give  us  time  to  talk  the  matter  over,  and  it 
will  give  you  time  to  repent." 

A  little  shadow  fell  over  her  and  the  sunlight 
was  not  quite  so  brilliant.  The  incomprehensi 
ble  nature  of  the  man  came  to  her  again,  and  he 
seemed  old,  old  as  a  granite  crag,  beyond  song, 
beyond  love,  beyond  hope. 

Then  he  smiled  :  "  Well,  now,  I  'm  ready  to 
go  see  the  world ;  any  caves,  any  rocking  boul 
ders,  any  water  tower?" 

She  took  up  the  cue  for  gaiety :  "  No,  but  I 
might  take  you  to  see  the  cemetery,  that  is  an 


395 


ROSE  OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

appropriate  Sunday  walk  ;  all  the  young  people 
walk  there." 

"  The  cemetery  !  I  'm  a  believer  in  crema 
tories.  I  '11  tell  you  what  we  '11  do.  After 
you  've  hung  out  the  wash-boiler  to  dry  we  '11  go 
down  under  the  trees,  and  I  '11  listen  to  some  of 
your  verse.  Now,  that  is  a  tremendous  conces 
sion  on  my  part.  I  hope  you  value  it  to  the 
full." 

"  I  do,  indeed." 

"You  do?  good!  We'll  put  the  matter  in 
movement  at  once." 

"The  dew  is  still  on  the  grass,"  she  said 
warningly. 

"  So  it  is.  I  thank  you  for  remembering  my 
growing  infirmities.  Well,  let 's  go  out  and  see 
the  pigs.  As  I  told  you,  I  hate  cattle  and  swine, 
they  act  out  so  frankly  the  secret  vices  of  man  — 
but,  never  mind,  I  "11  go  out  and  have  it  out  with 
your  father." 

The  moment  he  began  in  that  tone  she  was 
helpless. 

They  moved  out  into  the  barnyard,  but  John 
was  not  in  sight. 

"  I  guess  he  's  with  his  bees,"  Rose  said. 
"  He  likes  to  sit  out  there  and  watch  them  when 
he  is  resting." 

They  peered  over  the  fence,  and  their  eyes 
took  in  a  picture  they  will  never  forget  while 
they  live.  John  Butcher  sat  before  his  bees  in 

396 


MASON  AS  A  LOVER 

the  bloom  of  the  clover,  his  head  bowed  in  his 
hands.  He  was  crying  for  his  lost  daughter. 

There  came  a  gripping  pain  in  the  girl's 
throat,  the  hot  tears  rushed  to  her  eyes,  and  she 
cried  in  a  voice  of  remorseful  agony : 

"  Father — pappa  John  !  " 

His  lifted  his  head  and  looked  at  her,  his 
eyes  dim  with  tears,  his  lips  quivering. 

The  girl  rushed  through  the  gate,  and  Mason 
turned  and  walked  away  like  a  man  discovered 
thieving  from  an  altar. 


397 


CONCLUSION 

THE  WIND  IN  THE  TREETOPS 

Mason  freshened  magically  under  her  sweet 
and  self-contained  companionship.  She  did  not 
coddle  him,  nor  bore  him  by  attentions,  but 
seemed  to  do  the  right  thing  instinctively.  She 
assumed  command  over  him  in  certain  ways — 
that  is,  she  insisted  on  his  taking  long  walks  and 
drives  with  her — though  he  sturdily  refused  to 
climb  hills.  "  Bring  me  to  them  gradually,"  he 
said,  "  for  I  am  from  Egypt." 

One  Sunday  afternoon  he  consented  to  try 
an  easy  one  and  they  started  out — she  in  radi 
ant,  laughing  exultation,  he  in  pretended  dark 
foreboding  of  the  outcome. 

She  led  the  way  with  swift,  steady  swing  of 
skirts,  her  smiling  face  a  challenge  to  him  when 
he  fell  too  far  behind.  He  never  ceased  to  ad 
mire  her  powerful,  decisive  movement  and  her 
radiant  color,  though  he  said  nothing  about  it 
to  her. 

She  stopped  at  a  spring  which  came  silently 
to  light  beneath  an  overhanging  sandstone. 
There  was  no  dipper,  and  Rose,  with  a  new 

398 


THE  WIND   IN  THE   TREETOPS 

daring,  dropped  on  her  knees  and  dipped  some 
of  the  cool,  sweet  water  in  her  palm. 
"  Do  you  thirst,  Sir  Guy  ?" 

He  kneeled  beside  her  with  a  comical  groan, 
and  drank  from  her  hand. 

"  Thanks,  a  sweeter  draught  from  fairer  hand 
was  never  quaffed." 

Rose  was  highly  elated  at  the  success  of  her 
trick.  She  dipped  another  palm  full.  He  shook 
his  head. 

"  With  your  permission  I  '11  use  my  hat  brim." 

"  I  '11  show  you  how  to  do  it,"  she  said.  She 
rose  and  leaped  the  little  stream,  and  flung  her 
self  down  full  length  on  the  ground,  and  resting 
her  palms  on  two  flat  stones,  she  drank  from  the 
pool,  like  an  Indian. 

"  There!  "  she  cried  triumphantly.  "  That 's 
the  way  to  drink.  All  my  life  I  've  done  this 
way  at  this  spring — when  there  was  n't  anyone 
to  see." 

Mason  felt  a  wild  charm  in  this.  Most  other 
women  would  have  tumbled  to  pieces  doing 
such  a  thing,  while  she  sprang  up  a  little 
flushed,  but  with  no  other  sign  of  exertion. 

There  was  something  primeval,  elemental,  in 
being  thus  led  by  a  beautiful  woman  through 
coverts  of  ferns  and  hazel.  Every  shadow 
seemed  to  wash  away  some  stain  or  scar  of  the 
city's  strife.  He  grew  younger. 

"  I  almost  like  this  sort  of  thing,"  he  said. 

399 


ROSE   OF   BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

They  came  at  last  to  the  smooth  slope  of  the 
peak  where  grass  stood  tall  in  bunches  on  a 
gravelly  soil,  and  wild  flowers  of  unusual  kinds 
grew.  As  they  mounted  now,  the  landscape 
broke  over  the  tree  tops,  and  the  valleys  curved 
away  into  silent  blue  mist. 

On  every  side  low  wooded  ridges  lay,  with 
farms  spread  like  rugs  half-way  up  their  deep 
green  clearings.  On  the  further  slope  a  pasture 
came  nearly  to  the  summit,  and  the  tinkle  of  a 
bell  among  the  bushes  sounded  a  pastoral  note. 
A  field  of  timothy  farther  on  to  the  left  glowed 
with  a  beautiful  pink-purple  bloom. 

"  Is  n't  it  beautiful,"  asked  Rose. 

Mason  dropped  full  length  on  the  grass  be 
fore  replying. 

"Yes,  it  is  lovely — perfectly  pastoral.  Worthy 
a  poem." 

"  I  've  written  three,  right  on  this  spot,"  she 
said  a  little  shyly. 

He  seemed  interested. 

"  Have  you?     Have  n't  one  with  you?  " 

"  No." 

"  Always  go  armed.  Now  here 's  a  golden 
opportunity  gone  to  waste." 

She  smiled  shyly. 

"  I  can  repeat  one  though." 

"  Can  you  ?     Better  yet !     Recite  one." 

She  sat  down  near  him,  but  not  too  near, 
and  began  in  a  soft  hesitant  voice  to  repeat  a 
400 


THE  WIND  IN  THE  TREETOPS 

poem  which  was  full  of  feminine  sadness  and 
wistfulness.  As  she  went  on  Mason  turned  his 
face  toward  her,  and  her  eyes  fell  and  her  voice 
faltered. 

"That 's  glorious!  "  he  said.     "  Go  on." 

The  wind  swept  up  the  slope  and  through 
the  leaning  white  bodies  of  the  birches  with  a 
sadness  like  the  poem.  The  wild  barley  bowed 
and  streamed  in  the  wind  like  an  old  man's 
beard  ;  the  poem  struck  deep  into  secret  moods, 
incommunicable  in  words — and  music  came  to 
carry  the  words.  The  girl's  eyes  were  sweet  and 
serious  and  the  lovely  lines  of  her  lips  shifted 
and  wavered. 

Mason  suddenly  reached  out  and  took  the 
girl's  right  hand.  Her  voice  died  out  and  her 
eyes  met  his.  He  drew  her  hand  toward  him 
and  laid  his  lips  upon  it. 

"  You  're  a  poet,"  he  said.  "  You  have 
found  your  voice,  and  I — I  love  you  because 
you  are  a  poet  and  because  you  are  a  beautiful 
woman." 

The  touch  of  his  bearded  lips  upon  her  hand 
was  the  event  of  her  life,  and  the  whole  world 
reshaped  itself.  His  praise  of  her  poem,  her 
victory  over  him  as  a  critic  was  great,  but  his 
final  words  drowned  in  fierce  light  the  flame  of 
her  art's  enthusiasm. 

Once  more  a  man's  voice  came  to  her,  filled 
with  entreaty  and  command,  but  in  this  case 
401 


ROSE   OF  BUTCHER'S  COOLLY 

she  had  no  reservations.  It  was  well,  it  was 
inevitable,  and  it  was  glorious  to  set  her  face 
toward  wifehood  and  fame  with  such  a  man  as 
companion,  friend  and  lover. 

A  couple  of  weeks  later,  Mason  came  down 
from  his  room  with  a  grim  look  on  his  face. 
He  stepped  out  on  the  porch  and  stood  there 
feeling  the  change  in  the  air.  The  summer 
was  over. 

Rose  came  out,  and  he  put  his  arm  about  her. 

" Hark!  "  he  commanded.  "  Do  you  hear  the 
wind  in  the  treetops  ?  It  brings  me  the  roar  of 
the  city  this  morning.  I  hear  the  grind  of  cars, 
the  roar  of  mills,  the  throb  of  presses  ;  the  city 
calls  me  and  I  must  go.  My  vacation  is  over. 
I  must  say  good-by  tonight." 

"It's  very  beautiful  up  here  now,"  she  said  a 
little  wistfully.  "The  sumac  is  beginning  to 
turn  and  the  hills  are  like  jewels." 

"Oh  yes,  it  is  beautiful,"  he  said  smiling  a 
little.  "But  down  there  life  is.  Infinite  novelty, 
ceaseless  change.  As  you  love  the  country,  so 
I  love  the  city.  It  is  a  greater  pleasure  to  me 
to  meet  men  than  trees,  and  concerts  are  more 
than  winds  in  the  pines.  Artist  souls,  poets, 
people  who  do  and  think,  are  there,  and  so  I 
must  go." 

"When  shall  I  go?"  she  asked. 

"When  you  please,"  he  said.     "I  have  no 


402 


THE   WIND   IN   THE  TREETOPS 

commands.  You  are  perfectly  free  to  do  as  you 
like.  I  need  you  always  now." 

"Then  I  will  go  tonight,"  she  said  firmly. 

He  turned  his  eyes  upon  her  in  a  look  she 
never  forgot. 

"My  dearest  girl,  do  you  realize  what  you 
are  doing  ?  Do  you  realize  that  you  are  enter 
ing  upon  a  problematical  line  of  action  —  that 
you  are  inviting  pain  and  sorrow  and  care,  that 
you  are  leaving  girlhood  and  leisure  behind  — 
that  you  are  entering  gates  that  never  swing 
outward.  Do  you  know  this  —  once  more  and 
finally,  do  you  realize  all  this  ?" 

She  stood  before  him  stronger  than  he;  he 
felt  it.  She  knew  him  at  last  since  that  touch 
of  his  lips  to  her  arm,  since  that  look  in  his 
eyes — and  she  said:  "I  realize  it  all,  and  I 
choose  it." 


403 


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CHICAGO,    U.    S.  A.,  FOR    STONE   AND 

KIMBALL   MDCCCXCV 


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